Staying Safe
by Caeli Quaedem
Summary: After 3 years, Pres. Paylor decided to go through with the 76th and final Hunger Games- with the Capitol-born citizens as tributes. Having the famous Peeta Mellark as my mentor and one of my best friends as my district partner is just the least of my problems. May the odds be ever in my favor. Hunger Games universe heavily interspersed with Harry Potter elements- Everlark, H/G,R/Hr
1. Chapter 1

**Real Summary:**

**Since FFN decides to torment us with 255 character summaries, here's the one I really planned to use:**

_**Three years after the Rebellion, Paylor decided to go through with the 76th and final Hunger Games- with the Capitol-born citizens as tributes. Having the famous Peeta Mellark as my mentor and one of my best friends as my district partner is just the least of my problems. May the odds be ever in my favor. Hunger Games universe heavily interspersed with Harry Potter elements- Everlark, H/G, R/Hr**_

**A/N: This is just a little experiment I've got, and it's going to be a purely reader-driven fic, so I really hope you guys give me some good/bad/constructive feedback! It's a crossover, I'm telling you now, and the ships are gonna be: Everlark, H/G, R/Hr. It will mainly be in Peeta and Ginny's PoV. I hope no one minds when I jump persons whenever there's a change in PoV. I hope you give this a chance since I'm really trying to make this different from all the other HP/THG crossover fics out there. Thanks for reading, guys!**

**Disclaimer: Listen here and listen well, 'cause I'm only doing this once. I don't own Harry Potter and the Hunger Games, only Rowling and Suzanne does. I don't even know if I can consider the plot mine since it's quite overused, lol.**

Chapter One: Three Years Later

"It's been three years. I thought you would have forgotten about that."

Three years. Of course, three years since Coin's and Snow's death. Three years since this same group of people gathered around in a similar fashion. Paylor looks sideways at Heavensbee and smiles. She addresses Mellark, "I bet you would."

He makes some sort of distressed sound, and under the glass table, everyone can plainly see Everdeen squeeze his hand comfortingly.

"Why do we need to go through with it anyway? They're already at peace and harmony with their respective districts. They're _working_. _They gave up the tattoos and dyes_. They _willingly_ left their homes!"

Enobaria sneers. "What homes? Their fucking president destroyed everything!"

"We've gone over this before," adds Mason, twirling a lock of her hair, seemingly bored. "You lost."

"These are children we're talking about! Children you're going to send to their deaths! If, if we continue with this, we're just as bad as the Capitol we destroyed three years ago!"

"Good. Maybe then, we would be even." mumbles Mason bitterly.

"But- but…"

"Seems like they also took your talent for speaking when they tortured you there," states Enobaria sarcastically.

Everdeen tenses and glares at the older girl fiercely, but she just smiles sarcastically back.

Mellark pales and his grip on Everdeen's hand tightens, but he sits straighter.

"One Game. We're going to do one Game, and we're abiding by the rules set when we were the tributes. No more, no less."

Paylor nods. "Fair enough, we've already got the Game plan set up…" Heavensbee nods enthusiastically at this part. He's happy to be back in his element. "A group that's going to act as Gamemakers have been assembled from the different districts, and the rebel groups. We've even reconstructed the Training Center and Capitol Justice Building. The only things we're undecided on are the mentors and how we're going to proceed with the Reaping."

"Will we have hosts and commentators like before?" asks Odair quietly.

"Yes, yes, of course," Heavensbee replies distractedly, "We've already picked out who's going to do that. The camera crew and Gamemaker group is excellent. The only things we're worried about are the mentors and escorts."

"Those people should be taken from the districts," blurts Everdeen suddenly. Everyone looks at her oddly. She hurries to explain, "If the mentors and tributes are all from the Capitol, they could… strike up a method, or plan to… to get out of the arena, or… or a way to communicate, or… or something. I, I mean, they know these Games much more than we do. They pay more attention and they're more oriented with the technology we're going to use."

Paylor nods understandingly, and so do the few others around the table. "Yes, that makes sense. But who are we going to assign…?"

Odair speaks up quietly, "Are we also going to have twelve pairs of tributes?"

Heavensbee nods distractedly.

"I want to be a mentor for my District."

Everyone's eyes snapped on her. Paylor narrows her eyes, and asks a question, "Why?"

Odair's eyes flashed, "You know how I don't like this. How… how Finnick wouldn't like it. I just- I just want to help the- the tributes as much as I can." She swallows painfully.

Mellark reaches out, squeezes her shoulder and sits back down. In a gentle tone, he spoke to the widow, "I don't think you should, Annie. I know how much this would mean to you and Finnick, but your son needs you. I don't think he'd like it much in the Capitol."

She bites her lower lip and hangs her head, speaking in an undertone, "I know. I won't let Weyn witness the Games. I feel so helpless… and I…" She looks up suddenly and looks Mellark straight in the eye. "Will you?" she whispers, "Will you mentor a pair?"

Mellark looks stricken, and everyone's attention was on him. There was a tense silence around the conference room. Mellark looks sideways at Everdeen, but her face is passive, expressionless. She only squeezes his hand at his unspoken question. Finally, he takes a deep breath and, looking Odair resolutely in the eye, nods determinedly.

Odair smiles gratefully, and runs out the door before anyone can stop her, or see the tears falling from her haunted eyes.

Heavensbee, clearly flustered, tries to put the meeting back on track. "Well, that settles it for District 12's mentor. Who's going to be their escort?"

"Delly Cartwright," Mellark answers promptly. Everdeen and Paylor looks questioningly at him. "She's one of my only remaining friends, and she's got the talking excessively part down pat. Kind of like Effie, if you ask me."

Everdeen cracks a grin, and Mellark smiles back happily. Mason makes fake gagging noises behind their back as Beetee shakes his head amusedly.

"Right then," Paylor states in a business-like manner, "Would there be any volunteers as mentors?" She raises an eyebrow, as if daring anyone to speak. No one does. "We'll organize the mentors and escorts for the other districts this weekend, and announce it on national by Monday. Off you go."

The group disperses and noisily files out the door. Everdeen and Mellark quickly make their way to the train station. The meeting had taken place in District Four, and if they'd be able to catch the train, they could make it home in five hours.

* * *

Peeta tentatively takes a bite of the buttered roll as he slumps down on the futuristic loveseat strategically placed across the window of the high-speed Capitol- no, Panem trains they were currently riding. His blue eyes turn toward his girlfriend, who has just finished refilling her mug of hot chocolate. She joins him on the seat silently and leans her head against his shoulder.

"You were serious, weren't you? About being a mentor?"

He looks at her, trying to meet her eyes, but her gaze remains determinedly out the window. He takes a deep breath, "Are you mad at me?" Her grey eyes snap up to meet his, surprised. "No! No, of course not! You have free will, you know."

"Really?" he asks amusedly, playing with a lock of dark hair and twirling it repeatedly around his forefinger.

"Yeah," she breathes out, twisting around to press a kiss on his cheek.

"You aren't going to watch it." It was a statement, not a question, but Katniss nods anyway. "But you'll have to," she says, a bit unsure.

"Yeah, I will," he tucks the lock behind her ear, and blows softly on her ear. "Will you… be able to?" she asks. She would've used other words, but she knew that with Peeta, she can get her point across.

"I'll have to." He wraps his arms around her, and she burrows closely into him, stopping short of sitting on his lap. She offers him her warm drink, and he chuckles before taking a sip. Katniss plucks the roll out of his hand and finishes it in two bites.

"Hey, no fair!" Peeta protests playfully. Katniss chuckles, "You were too slow." "I'll just have to finish this cocoa all by myself then, won't I?" He promptly downed it all in one huge gulp.

Katniss shakes her head at his antics. She swings her pants-clad legs so it dangles over the armrest and lays her head on Peeta's lap. She yawns. "Wake me up when we're home, yah?"

Peeta nods and brushes her hair to one side. He also shifts his position so Katniss' head was more comfortably placed. Katniss takes his left hand and encases it in both of her own, then she fell into a dreamless sleep.

District 12 has been completely rebuilt during the three years since Snow fell. The Justice building wouldn't look out of place in the Capitol. Instead of grimy, barely-standing 'houses', high-rise condominiums housing up to a hundred residents littered the land. The concentration of technology in the Capitol was spread out and distributed to all the districts, providing better communication and quality of life in Panem. Most of the remaining citizens had been given work and accommodations in the districts and due to the free transportation among the districts, Panem became more of a country than ever.

"Katniss, Katniss love, wake up."

"Huh?" She slowly raises her head from where it was resting on Peeta's lap. Trying to take in her blurry surroundings, she groggily blinked her eyes until the world came into focus. "Are we home yet?"

"Yes, come on."

The Victor's Village was the only thing left unchanged in District 12. Haymitch, who had his own suite on the train, had gone along before them and was now opening his house gates with a brass key. Peeta and Katniss left the train together and trudged through the thick snow. Peeta pulled on his winter coat, handing Katniss hers. Their boots left imprints on the ground, but they let it be. It's useless shoveling this time, maybe in a few weeks.

Peeta drops Katniss off at their house. He gave her a chaste kiss on the lips before pulling away. "I have to talk to Delly first."

"Be home for dinner."

"I will be."

"Bye."

* * *

"Sure, I'll be a mentor! We're going to have so much fun together, Peeta! You'll see!"

Peeta grins and leans forward on impulse, hugging his best friend. "Thanks, Delly. You don't know how much this means to me."

"It's okay. I'm just glad I had my best friend back," she whispers. Peeta smiles and let go, sitting back down on the armchair. Delly lives in her own apartment unit on the third floor of an old-fashioned building, the very first to be built. Most of the original District 12 citizens who survived the bombing settled in that very apartment.

"You know, the view here really is incredible."

"I know, that's why I chose it. Maybe you can come over again sometime and paint it."

Peeta smiles and his eyes light up. "Sure, that'll be brilliant."

Delly laughs, "Will you be staying for dinner, or d'ya have to come home to your lady-love?"

Peeta gasps and stands up abruptly, "You're right. I have to go. See you around, Delly."

Delly waves and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like 'whipped', but he lets it go. He still has to check on the bakery before he goes home.

* * *

"Good evening, Peeta."

He takes off his coat and hangs it by a hook on the wall and retrieves an apron. "Good evening, Minerva. How's little Liza?"

Minerva pulls out the last batch of baguettes out of the oven before answering. "She's asleep on her little cot. I saw her trying to sneak out some chocolate syrup, so I sent her out to play with the other children to shake off the sugar high."

Peeta chuckles, rolling some dough. "That sounds like Liza alright."

"Yes, it is. Peeta, if you don't mind me asking, is it alright to have a bunch of kids come over and help with the bakery next week? They're all orphans and used to be my students before I retired and I didn't want them to be alone this Christmas and… well, that is, if you don't mind," finished Minerva sheepishly.

Peeta looks up and smiles graciously, "Oh, that's alright, Minerva. We can always use all the help we can get."

Minerva releases a sigh of relief and thanks Peeta genially, taking the tray he had filled with uniformly formed dough and sliding it neatly into the oven.

Ever since the rebellion, where Minerva lost her sister, brother-in-law, and nephew all at once, she was left homeless, jobless, and in responsibility of her one-year-old niece. She and Demelza were assigned an apartment in District 12 and for a few weeks lived off of the rations given to everyone who can't afford their own. Eventually though, she had found a job in the Mellark Family Bakery after Peeta opened it up again, a few weeks after Katniss was let out of house arrest.

Minerva would never tell, but she knew that Peeta won't be able to concentrate on work until he knew that Katniss was alright. The bakery is now Peeta's second priority, since it was the only link he had left of his parents and brothers. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to work full-time, he had looked for someone he felt responsible and trustworthy enough to manage the bakery and little workers it had. Minerva had slipped into the role easily, and they had shared an easy and workable relationship together. Peeta was almost like a son to her.

"I think this batch could last for tomorrow. I still haven't fed Demelza dinner."

"Of course. Good night, Minerva."

"Good night, Peeta."

* * *

"Evening, Haymitch! Here for Katniss' cooking, eh?"

Haymitch raises an empty glass in Peeta's direction, and indicates the seat across him, where Peeta promptly sits down in. "I'm not one to turn down quality food, kid. Now go sit down so I can eat. Sweetheart here won't serve dinner till you're here."

Katniss smiles, unaffected by Haymitch's jibe, and sets out a heaping plateful of rabbit stew. She shot a pair that afternoon while Peeta was out and had gathered some vegetables from the garden. She set out the steamed vegetables beside the stew while Peeta fetched a pitcher of orange juice and poured it into the glasses. Haymitch took out the rolls Peeta got from the bakery and opened up bottles of marmalade.

They ate comfortably, talking about trivial matters such as the weather, Peeta's latest project- a collection of murals to adorn the walls of the bakery, Effie's newest beau, and Katniss' incredible cooking.

After a simple dessert of strawberry cheesecake, courtesy of Minerva, Haymitch bid the pair goodbye and went home across the street. Katniss set up the security night procedures as Peeta cleared the table and made sure that everything in the kitchen was in order. They retired to the bedroom and changed into their night clothes. Katniss crawled under the covers, and Peeta lay beside her, on top of the comforter.

"I don't want to go to sleep just yet," Katniss mumbled, staring at the ceiling. "Wanna watch something on the telly?"

She nods and Peeta reaches over to the control panel built onto the wall. He pressed a button and the wall across the bed flared to life, showing the shows currently on in little boxes. Katniss waves a hand directly over a little box showing an animated lion talking to a grumpy-looking tree, and the box expands and fills the screen.

"Cartoons again?" Peeta asks amusedly. "Shush," Katniss admonishes gently, turning up the volume, "they're really funny… and cute."

Peeta shifts a little and lets his head fall higher up the pillow, allowing Katniss to lay her head on his bare chest. Her body curls up to him, their contours fitting perfectly, and her eyes still glued to the television. He smiles, content in watching her watch those silly shows. _After I finish those murals, I'm going to paint Katniss with this exact same expression._

She'd laugh at some points, and he would laugh with her, not knowing what he's laughing at, but liking the sound of their laughs together anyway. After an hour or so, the show ended and he closes the telly through the same panel. She pulls another blanket over both of them, and snuggles closer to Peeta, her arm thrown over his torso, and their legs intertwined.

She leans up and gives him a kiss on the lips, and he responds back eagerly, encasing her waist with both of his arms. Her arms snake their way around her neck, and she breaks the kiss to run her lips over his jaw, and up his ear. She nibbles on his earlobe and he moans a little, running his left hand through her hair.

As usual, he pulls away first, but she doesn't mind. He gives her one last peck on the cheek, "I love you."

"I love you too, Peeta-bear." He laughs, and holds her tighter to him as they fall asleep.

* * *

**It's that little weird button that looks really out-of-place! Please click it, even a 'continue!' or 'this sucks!' will do! Please? Pretty please with nightlock on top?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey guys, here's chapter two! Hope you like it and give me your thoughts. Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Two: Mandatory News Alert

I insert the key card into the slot on the side of the wall, and let the scanner pass through my eyes and thumb to identify my DNA. The door, marked with a large, golden number plate- 237, slides to the side with a sharp click. A disembodied but pleasant female voice announces, "Ginevra Weasley, confirmed resident of apartment 237, DNA verified."

I sigh in relief and drag two of my suitcases through the door, making sure my backpack doesn't fall off.

I take in the familiar, two-bedroom apartment we were assigned. After the Capitol fell, the new government, headed by President Paylor, assigned apartments to all the Capitol citizen survivors, such as me and my brother. We were orphaned, and appointed a building in District 12, together with our best friends- Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom and Ron's girlfriend, who also happened to be another of my best friends- Hermione Granger.

Originally, we lived in the richer part of the Capitol, seeing as my father used to be an ambassador of sorts; he used to communicate with the mayors from the districts and reports any news or issues that needed to be addressed directly to President Snow. My mother was a stylist, and we owned a clothing company called Weasley Wears. As I said, we were orphaned when the rebels hit the main part of the city, and only the flashing signage of our main store was left. The factory and most of the other branches were raided, and we weren't able to salvage anything of importance.

I used to have six older brothers, now I only have one. Bill, the oldest, worked as a historian/archaeologist. He used to travel all over Panem, scavenging mountains and unearthing fossils, hunting old artifacts that gave us ideas of the cultures in the past. He gave me a laptop once, an old humungous device that works the same as any holographic electronic device, only you used this thing called touchpad to move around a 'cursor'. It was bigger than my old wristHED- a thin, silver band that you can wear around your wrist and produced a holographic touch-operated computer screen at the push of a button. We mainly used it to access the internet and news. The so-called 'laptop' was big, heavy, and quite frankly, incovenient, but I treasured it because it was the only thing I have from Bill. I very rarely saw him and now I never will.

Second is Charlie. He used to work in the Capitol labs, playing with plant and animal DNA and genetics to create different species of mutations, the most notable of which they sent to the Hunger Games. He's also part of the team that creates the serums that makes President Snow's roses ever in bloom. Like Bill, I almost never saw him- a mistake that I'll regret for the rest of my life.

Percy comes next. He's the estranged one; he used to work as a secretary to the Head Gamemakers, but wasn't a Gamemaker himself. He went to join the rebels with his latest boss, Plutarch Heavensbee. The last we heard of him was a letter saying that he's not going to stand by and watch things happen, he's going to make a change. I'd like to believe he's still alive, but I know it's improbable.

The twins, Fred and George… I was closest to them, next to Ron, of course. They were the pranksters, the life of every party- and we held a lot. They were the ones who, for some reason, actually look good in Capitol fashion. They were also gamblers, always betting on the Games with their friends and acquaintances. They worked in the family business, mainly in advertising- making signs, flyers, directing commercials, picking out models, designing their own lines. I never knew what happened to them, but their names weren't in the survivor registry.

Ron and I- we stayed at Aunt Muriel's at Mum and Da's orders, when the rebels bombed the Capitol. She had a friend in District Two for whatever reason, and we used the underground to escape. We made it just before the first bomb hit. We were miserable there, short on food and company, but we were safe.

A few months later, we went back to the Capitol- it was a wreck. The shining city we once called home was nothing more than a grey wasteland of useless rubble. Oh sure, the most important buildings were still standing- President Snow's mansion took most of the blows, but the residential areas and emergency residential areas were not even more than ghosts of what they used to be. We found Harry, Luna, Neville and Hermione when we signed up our names for the survivors. Luna and I were thirteen then, Harry, Ron, Neville and Hermione were fourteen. We were young, yes, but I remember every single detail of the aftermath of the War.

The agonized screams I let out upon learning about our parents' and brothers' deaths, my face pressed against Ron's chest as we sobbed together. The feeling of complete helplessness at the sight of our dead shops, with the signs still hanging on its hinges, the bright lively lights flickering unsteadily. Harry's pale, expressionless face as he received his parents' marriage and engagement rings, and wristHEDs- the only thing they were able to recover from James and Lily's bodies. Visiting all of our friends' houses and seeing nothing but smoking, barely recognizable ruins. The way Neville furiously scrubbed off the little amount of highlights he applied to his hair daily. Hermione's tears dripping slowly down her cheeks as we watched her parents' bodies get cremated. Luna's increasing belief in all of the fictional creatures her Da used to write about in one of the most successful book series in the Capitol- the Quibbler. The little ceremony we had when we first moved into this apartment, burning all the heavy, uncomfortable, and outlandish clothes we used to wear back in the Capitol, and restarting our lives, solely dependent on each other.

I unzip the backpack and pull out the picture frames I always keep with me and set it on top of a side table on the den. One was a family picture taken during a trip to the 55th Hunger Games arena- a gorgeous beach, with a lone, rocky island in the middle. I was about eight in this picture, a year before Percy graduated. Another picture was of me, Ron, Hermione, Harry, Luna, and Neville together at school, smiling widely at the camera.

I wipe off the little tears that had managed to escape my chocolate brown eyes. I very rarely cry nowadays, but remembering the worst time of my life where I lost most of my family is one of the occasions that can surely make me break.

The rest of the guys come in, heaving their bags along with them. It's winter break, and we're going to be staying in District 12 for a few weeks before going back to boarding school in District 2, where all the children of Panem- from the districts or otherwise, are now studying.

Hermione and Luna set about restocking the kitchen, while the boys carry the bags to the appropriate bedrooms. I set about playing some music from the room's HED before setting to work. I open all the windows, letting all the fresh breeze in before joining Hermione and Luna in preparing dinner.

I hand out plates to everyone as we all settle down on couches and armchairs in front of the telly. Every first night home is movie night. Hermione was just about to select Celestina Warbeck's latest drama when the screen cracked with static and Mafalda Hopkirk's beaming face, along with the flashing words "MANDATORY NEWS ALERT" appeared on the screen.

"Good evening, citizens! We interrupt your daily programming schedule for a mandatory news alert sent in by President Paylor herself!..."

We all groan at Mafalda's annoying voice. She was also a Capitol citizen who used to work as a clerk in the Children Registry Department, and she hates children- that's why she's such a big supporter of the Games. She looks very different without her signature polka-dotted skin, though. Used to look like an exotic lizard, that one. They had a whole department dedicated to keeping records of children population in the Capitol. It was sick! How she got a job as a news anchor, I'll never know. She almost always brings bad news anyway.

"Three years ago, the Board of Victors and former District 13 president Alma Coin…" Here, they show pictures of the victors and President Coin in a box beside and slightly above Mafalda. We all lean forward eagerly, dinner forgotten. Whatever news that includes the Board of Victors ought to be _big_.

"…had come to a decision to have a final, symbolic Hunger Games using the children of high-ranking Capitol officials. And now, finally, after three years of rebuilding our great country, President Paylor has decided to host this momentous event. Here's Myron Wagtail, live from the District 8 Justice Building, together with President Paylor as they talk about… Well, I'll let you find out."

I look passively first at Luna, who's staring at the screen with her usual, dreamy blue eyes and blank expression. Hermione's looking anxiously at the screen, leaning against Ron nervously and chewing her nails. I bite my lip, that's not a good sign. Neville and Harry were both staring indifferently at the screen, just like what I'm trying to do.

Cut to the District 8 Justice Building with Myron Wagtail, who used to be the lead singer of the band Weird Sisters. They were a huge hit when they first rose to fame about eight years ago. I think Myron's the only survivor from the band.

"So, President Paylor, what made you think of hosting this… variation of the Hunger Games?"

Paylor smiles and crosses her legs, taking her sweet time. "It wasn't my idea, really. It was mostly from the rebels in 13. Alma was still president then, and she talked it over with the surviving tributes from the third Quarter Quell and majority agreed. It was a _very _close call. We think it's a great way for all the Capitol citizens to have a common bond with the district residents, you know? To have something that all of us can all hold on to and root for. Like Seneca Crane once said, the Hunger Games has been a tradition for Panem, and I think it's just fair to have the Capitol children to have a chance to experience that."

"Oh, yes. Of course, wonderfully said, Ms. President!" Wagtail comments gushingly, "Well, here's a question that most of us here at the Panem Prophet were really intrigued about, how will the reaping and training go about and will there be another Games after this? To uphold the tradition?"

"First of all, no I think this will be the last. As for the reapings, we will still go about it as usual. Everyone knows about the new apartments in the Districts and that's how we will base the one to twelve. A male and female from twelve to eighteen as usual, but I don't think we'll need any tesserae here. What we've decided is that, the higher up the government their parents are, the more slips of paper with their name in on it. It's quite simple, really."

"Oh… Well…"

I bet Myron has nothing to say to that. I feel dizzy, and the whole interview doesn't sink in until the screen goes back to Mafalda's face. I look around the faces of my friends- _no, my _**family**, and I can see the worry I feel reflected in their eyes: There's a big chance we might be reaped into the 76th Annual Hunger Games.

* * *

"That went well," Haymitch remarks casually, downing his coffee in one big gulp. I really have no idea why he's drinking coffee with dinner.

"I guess," I reply awkwardly. I still can't put down the nagging feeling in my stomach admonishing me as to why I'm not doing anything to stop this… abomination. I'd admit it, the plan _is_ rather brilliant: giving the Capitol citizens a taste of their own medicine after taking them in and providing for them after three years, but there's still a part there, _in me_, that's telling me that all of this is petty, childish.

The children doesn't deserve this, _they_ did nothing wrong. But then again, that is what they did to us, so really; we're just giving them back what is theirs. And besides, I'm going to be a mentor, so I'm actually going to help them. Or at least, the ones currently living in District 12.

"So Peeta, who do you think your tributes are going to be like?"

I laugh, "Survivors, fighters, I hope. Most of the orphans were sent here, you know. I might be able to work that to our advantage. They ought to be strong if they can live on their own at such a young age."

Inwardly, I wince. The youngest orphans here that are eligible to be part of the Games should've been about nine when they lost their parents. It was hardly fair, but I've learned to keep my thoughts to myself about this particular matter.

"Now that's how a mentor's mind works. Cheers, kid."

I shake my head amusedly but allow my glass to clink against Haymitch's noisily. Katniss shooed me out of the house a while ago, claiming that she has a 'girl's night' with Johanna and Annie, both of whom had come to visit for a few days.

Somehow, I think they're not going to give each other makeovers and hold pillow fights in their underwear. Just a guess, though. So now I'm in Haymitch's house babysitting little Weyn- Finnick and Annie's three-year-old son. I had him go to sleep five minutes ago.

"Have you met their stylist yet?"

"Not yet. But I heard she was from District 13. Ought to be fun."

Haymitch barked out a laugh, "Good luck."

I smile faintly, "Thanks. I'll need it."

* * *

I swallow hard and shakily pick up my fork and spoon. "I'll be taking this back." Standing abruptly, I walked briskly to the kitchen, depositing my plate to the small heater. I reach for a glass and quickly filled it with water from the tap.

"On related news, Headmaster Dumbledore had announced that the school will be adding another week to the students' winter break this year and hopes that the students don't slack off too much! A few days from now…"

I drop down weakly on a chair and cover my face with my hands. _This- this can't be happening. It's been three years! We've finally gotten over the horrors of the war, or as much as we possibly can, and then, then… __**this**__ comes along! Is this how all the family with children from the districts felt like then? Whenever a loved one was sent off to the Games? Or eligible for the Reaping? When they take more and more tesserae?_

I shudder involuntarily and wrap my jacket tighter around me. Harry turned up the temperature a while ago, but this news had suddenly left me feeling cold. I've always been… indifferent when it came to the Hunger Games. My parents, my teachers, my brothers- they've always told me that the Games have always been there, a constant in our world that will never be changed, and there was nothing that I- or anyone else- can do about it.

They're undeveloped threats to the hard-earned peace that the Capitol is trying to maintain- better to take them down when they're still young. They're barely human, born and raised to work for _our _betterment and entertainment. Don't feel pity- it's what they're born to do, there's nothing else to their life out of work and the Games. That's just the way it is. I've never questioned it- until the Rebellion came.

I thought of them as monsters then- monsters that destroyed my home, my life, my family. They were evil, heartless fiends- going against the Capitol that had given them their reason for existence, who had given them something worth living for. They destroyed the perfected civilization that our ancestors have created seventy-five years ago.

Then they took us in. I was confused, that was for sure, but confusion was pushed to the back of my mind when I was offered food and a home within the safety of my group of friends. I've had district friends at school, and even here in District 12. They're not so bad, really. I think the only difference that I might be able to point out is that the district people are a bit more used to work and less sensitive than we are. They were just as human as we are.

It's hardly fair for them, I know. And I know I should probably be thankful that this is the final Game for a very long time, but I just can't help but feel… angry, and helpless, and scared.

"Hello Ginevra. I see you haven't eaten your dinner. Pity, Hermione rarely cooks. I rather like the way the sweetness of the potato complements the tartness of the cream."

I smile faintly as Luna entered the small kitchen in her usual dreamy way; it almost looks like she was floating. She sits down on a stool and wraps her right leg on the left leg of the chair.

Luna's quite… odd. Her mother died quite early in her childhood, since she found out about her father's death, she turned to his books for comfort, locking herself in her room, reading, crying, grieving for hours. Slowly, she started to believe whatever it was her father had written about: imaginary, mythical creatures that not even the Capitol was able to bring into life. Her demeanor changed, rather subtly at first, but then, she'd talk to us and warn us of Nargles and heliopaths, and ask us if we'd seen traces of the Crumple-horned Snorcack… Hermione tried to dissuade her at first, telling her that the creatures weren't real and that she has to go back to 'reality'. After a fine shouting match between the two, which resulted in both girls crying and the rest of us comforting them, no one dared to tell Luna about their opinions on the slightly unbelievable beings. I think it was her way of being close to her father, and never really letting him go.

We sit in silence for a while, lost in our own thoughts, then:

"She's rather funny, isn't she? The girl who talked to Myron? Convincing people that it's tradition to die."

I snorted, "I guess."

"Ginevra?"

I snapped my head quickly in Luna's direction. There's something in the tone of her voice; it sounds different, almost normal, but… scared.

"Yeah?"

"I don't- I don't want to play that game. The- the Nargles are scared of it, and I don't think that Gurdyroot essence would be able to keep the negative energy away."

I nod my head determinedly, meaning everything I say, "You won't be playing that game, Luna. Not if I can help it."

"You don't know that, Ginevra."

"No, I don't. But you're my best friend Luna. I don't really like talking about your death."

"That's nice. Goodnight, Ginevra."

"Goodnight, Luna."

Luna skips happily back to the den and into our bedroom, sparing Ron, Hermione, Harry and Neville a smile. I sigh and wearily stood up to heat some water for tea.

The air in the den was tense. Hermione had her head buried in Ron's chest whilst Ron just stared at the screen as if he can't believe what just happened. Harry was staring passively out the window with his hands balled into fists and his jaw clenched tightly. Neville was collecting their plates and sent me a small smile as he passed her on his way to the kitchen.

I sit down beside Harry and place my hand on his knee. He looks up and meets my eyes. What I saw there shocked me, but I guess it really shouldn't have. Fierce but grim determination and resigned weariness mixed in his bright, emerald orbs. Harry had always been the most heroic and chivalrous out of the six of us, and his protectiveness is topped only by Ron.

I let out a yawn and lean my head on his shoulder. His left arm automatically came around my shoulders.

"We really shouldn't make a big deal out of this. What's the chance that one of us gets reaped? There are lots of Capitol citizens in District 12. We may not even be picked and we're worrying about nothing!"

Even as I said the words, I know they weren't believable. There's a reason our parents all got along well and that's because they're all almost at the top of the society ladder.

James, Harry's Da, was a defence general who was in charge of defending the boundaries of the Capitol and making sure none of the Eastern district citizens were capable of entering the city. He's also in charge of inspecting all the goods and supplies that came from the districts. Lily, Harry's Mum, worked in the Capitol labs, doing much the same thing as Charlie, except she worked in restoring mutations in their most basic states.

Alice and Frank, Neville's parents, were part of President Snow's advice council- a small group of people that Snow consults each time he wants to make a decision or change in the system that affected society.

Hermione's parents, Rendwick and Pheione, were fashion designers and consultants. They'd occasionally work with Weasley Wears in mass producing their designs.

Come to think of it, Luna actually has the least chance of getting reaped in our group. Her Mum used to work as an architect, but she died before she was able to rise in that particular field. Luna's father, Xenophilius Lovegood, published a series of short books entitled the Quibbler, which featured most of the creatures from Luna's fantasies. Add that to her age of sixteen, she's about as safe as you can get.

"It's not fair! They're making us pay for the mistakes of our ancestors and government! It's not like we all supported the Games! Not everyone in the Capitol actually liked the idea of watching children kill each other, and certainly not everyone thought it was entertainment that shouldn't be taken seriously!" Hermione burst out, finally surfacing from the confines of Ron's arms.

Even at a young age, Hermione had always been dead set against the idea of the Hunger Games, claiming that it's breaking morals and 'human rights', whatever that is. Thankfully, no one took her seriously, as young as she is, or else she'll probably be with her parents right now.

"Yes, well. That's what we did to them, isn't it? And probably not everyone agreed with hosting this Game. Didn't President Paylor say that there will only be one Game? At least that's something we wouldn't have to worry about."

It amazed me at how well Harry was able to capture my thoughts and put them into words concisely and simply. But then again, this is Harrius James Potter we're talking about.

I turned and gave him a small smile, which he returned.

"You're all right, but right now, all I want is to go to sleep and forget that we ever heard of the Hunger Games. I'm going to bed."

Ron gets up and kisses Hermione goodnight, before walking away and joining Neville in the boys' bedroom, which occupies most of the left side of the apartment.

Hermione gets up as well, gives each of us a small wave, and retires to our bedroom. I was thankful for the average-sized apartment. I honestly thought that we were going to have to live on the streets after our parents and brothers died. The boarding school offered a big consolation, and at first I thought maybe we could plead with Headmaster Dumbledore to let us stay in the dorms for the summer and winter, but all he did was give us the keycard and the address for the apartment and here we are.

From the main entrance, you'd come face to face with a hallway that leads to the den or the laundry room, and through the living room, you'd find your way into the kitchen, which also serves as a dining room, and before you reach the back door you can find a common bathroom. A hallway leading to the bedrooms opens up from the den as well, and both bedrooms have a connected bathroom.

Our apartment was done up in a cosy, red, black, and gold theme. Most of the electricity is connected to the heavy duty HED on the wall by the den. When school is in session, we'd let some of the richer citizens who needs extra space to rent the place, gaining money that helps cover most of our basic needs.

Sometimes, Hermione would take up offers from some of the richer families to tutor their kids, and sometimes, Luna and I would sell the jewellery she made from some of the strange plants that grow around the District. Sometimes, Ron and Neville would babysit for the busier parents, and sometimes, Harry would go and work in the Orphanage, reading stories to the children and get paid a small amount.

Sometimes, we have extra money to spend and then sometimes, we don't.

But one of the good things about President Paylor's new regime, is that no one below eighteen is hungry, homeless, or sick. The government provides, just as it's supposed to do.

"At least one of us is gonna get reaped. We have the most influential parents out of all the children in District 12."

I nod my head, sinking into his familiar, comforting embrace. I don't know why, but I always feel safer in Harry's arms- and now, he might be taken away from me.

"I don't want it to be you."

Harry smiles, and places his cheek against the top of my head, "It's not going to be me. I'm not going to leave you."

I look up at his bright emerald eyes, seeing the determination and protectiveness flashing fiercely through them. If it was anyone but Harry, I would've scoffed at them and told them to stop being such a sap, and that I could take care of myself. But this was Harry, and he's never broken a promise or lied to me before. I trust in him, completely.

"I hope so, Harry. I really do."

* * *

Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Odds

Peeta sighs in annoyance, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Plutarch Heavensbee's jovial face smiles at him through the holographic screen, "Why yes, of course! That's the whole point of the Games- to turn the odds in your favor! How can they do that if they don't know the odds of them getting in?"

Peeta frowns in confusion, "I'm pretty sure there isn't anything you can do the decrease your chance of being chosen as tribute since you took out the tesserae."

Plutarch waves his hand, as if he's waving the matter away as inconsequential. "It's the principle of the thing."

Peeta sighs again and buries his face into Katniss' neck in sheer frustration. Katniss wraps an arm around his shoulders and smiles amusedly.

"How're you gonna do this?" she asks Plutarch curiously, sipping a cup of coffee.

Plutarch smiles and pauses dramatically, as if he was going to be sharing a deep, dark secret. Which he probably was, but eh.

"You know how the apartments are keyed into the residents' DNA?," At Katniss' and Peeta's (muffled) nod, he continued, "We used the DNA records to keep track of who lives where, their age, living relatives, _parents, _etc. and then when we figured out how many slips we're going to have for each eligible contender, we're going to send them to the apartment HEDs. I just _knew_ that old-school DNA registry would come in handy someday!"

"Yes, you're a bloody genius," mumbled Katniss, trying to disentangle Peeta from her neck while still keeping all the coffee in her mug.

"Geroff! You're going to spill my coffee! Peeta!"

Peeta paid her no attention and started peppering her neck with small kisses, his arms tightening around her waist. Katniss moaned a little and fumbled, feeling for the button that would terminate their connection to Plutarch.

"Oh! Oh, well, I'd best be off- places to go, people to see, you know? The usual… uh… bye."

BEEP!

With Plutarch out of the way, Katniss started to respond to Peeta's advances. She placed the mug on a side table and dragged his head up to meet his lips with hers.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body closer to his. Groaning a little, Peeta deepened the kiss and fingered the hem of her nightgown.

Needless to say, it was a very long time before they decided to get up and eat some breakfast.

* * *

When I wake up, the first thing I recognize is the cramped position I'm in. I wasn't stretched out in my bed like usual, but am sitting and leaning on something hard and… expanding? Where am I?

I groan and open my eyes, stretching out my arms, only to have it blocked by something. I blinked once, then twice. How did the walls in our bedroom turn to gold? It's supposed to be black with red accents.

"Ginny?" a groggy voice asked from my side. I gasped, my cheeks burning in embarrassment, "Harry? I think we fell asleep on the couch."

"Oh, well… that's bad?"

I can tell he isn't fully awake yet, as he hadn't put his arm, which was sitting on my lap, away. His head is also buried in my shoulders, and it's rather uncomfortable. Though the feel of his breath on my bare skin more than makes up for it. Umm…

"Harry? Can you… let go now?" I bite my lip, suddenly feeling shy. It wasn't the first time we'd fallen asleep together on the couch, of course, but the last time we did that our parents just died and comforting each other just seemed so natural.

His head snapped up so fast I think he may have a stitch. "Oh! Oh, I'm sorry- I didn't know, sorry! Sorry!"

He scoots away as far as possible, and I can detect the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks. I exhale loudly, "Guess we fell asleep on the couch."

He scratches the back of his head, "Guess we did." His normally messy hair stuck up in even more directions, giving new meaning to the phrase 'rat's nest'. Usually, the boys would prepare and take a shower in their shared bathroom before going out and eating breakfast with us, same at school, so I never really saw what he looked like out of bed.

We're still in the same clothes as yesterday, and it's really rather uncomfortable. I look at Harry and he looks at me. We stare at each other for what seems like hours before bursting out laughing.

A loud beep from the HED main control panel near the door sounded and stopped us in our tracks. Harry went and enabled the text message to project on to the wall.

_HED Message_

_Nature: Text_

_Sender: Plutarch Heavensbee c/o Capitol Hunger Games Committee_

_Recipient: Apartment 237 Residents, Building 7, District 12_

_ Granger, Hermione __Longbottom, Neville_

_Lovegood, Luaena __Potter, Harrius_

_ Weasley, Ginevra __Weasley, Ronahld_

_Subject: Reaping Odds_

_Content: _

_Messrs. Longbottom, Potter, Weasley, and Misses Granger, Lovegood, and Weasley,_

_Enclosed within this letter are the number of slips with your respective names that will be present in the Reaping balls. Please keep in mind that these numbers were based off of your ages and your parents' status in the Capitol three years ago. If you would wish to view other contenders' reaping odds or have any other concerns, you can do so in the newly installed Capitol Hunger Games database in your apartment's main HED. _

_To view the individual odds and reasoning behind it, please select the appropriate name._

_Ms. Granger __Mr. Longbottom_

_Ms. Lovegood __Mr. Potter_

_Mr. Weasley __Ms. Weasley_

_Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor!_

_The Capitol Hunger Games Committee_

_Plutarch Heavensbee_

Harry flops back down on the couch, still staring at the screen. "It makes it more real, doesn't it?" I sit beside him and nod my head. "I think we should wait for the others to wake up before we go and look at it."

"Yeah."

I stand up and wipe my hands on my cream shorts, "I'll go make breakfast."

"I'll help."

Silently, we make our way to the kitchen and work side by side to prepare a small batch of eggs and bacon. As I fry the last hash, Harry stood behind me, apron in his hands.

"I'm going to wake the others up now, hmm?" He whispers to me, directly at my ear. His proximity meant that his front pressed against my back. A faint, unfamiliar warmth stirrs through my chest and stomach. I can feel my heart go all a-flutter in my chest and I nods, suddenly out of breath.

He turns and walks away, and I let out a breath with a loud whoosh. What just happened?

* * *

"So, the HED just beeped and the message projected into the wall?" Hermione asks skeptically, putting down her bottle of orange juice.

"Pass the eggs."

I pass Neville the purple tray and nod my head at Hermione. "Yeah. I thought we'd check it all out together later, after breakfast."

"Check what out?" asks Ron around a mouthful of bacon. Hermione flicks a finger on his arm, "Honestly Ron, please swallow before you talk."

Ron makes a big show of swallowing, stretching his neck, "Yes 'Mione," he replies lowly. She shakes her head but smiles amusedly.

"The reaping odds- the Head Gamemaker sent us a HED text message this morning." Harry replies, coming back from taking another tray of eggs from the kitchen.

"We're really going to be in, aren't we?" asksNeville resignedly, pushing away his plate morosely. Luna nodds eagerly, "Yes! Yes, we are. And so will a hundred more citizens in District 12."

"Come on." Harry stands up, distractedly pushing his chair back under the table, and headed straight into the control panel, flashing the message into the screen once more.

We all followed and nervously gathered around the living room, too fidgety to actually settle down properly. After Harry showed everyone the main message, he selected the first name-link: Hermione's.

"Let's start with Hermione," Harry suggests, "and work our way alphabetically. We agreed, and I twiddle my thumbs and bite my lip in dread and anticipation.

_Ms. Hermione Granger,_

_Seeing as your parents, Rendwick and Pheione Granger, were both almost at the top of their selected profession- fashion designing and consultancy, the committee has thought it appropriate that we give you three slips for each parent, which will be added to the five that you already have based off of your age of seventeen years, giving a total of eleven slips. _

_Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor._

_The Committee_

I glance at Hermione with a horrible sinking feeling in my stomach but she was staring at the screen in horror. Ron drew her into his arms, trying to calm her shuddering breaths. Neville reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder, as Harry said, "Hey, I'm sure some of us are worse off. You're the first one we checked after all. We can look at the average slips the others have later at the database, okay?"

She smiled shakily but squared her shoulders, sitting up straighter, "Of course. You're right, Harry. I'm just being silly." I give her a smile and she beams back. I know for a fact that it's her time of the month, so her emotions are kind of all over the place. Unfortunate really, that it hit at this time with this kind of news.

"Let's go with Neville's now," I say, taking the initiative and waving my hand directly before the box that held Neville's name. The letter was pretty much the same, but seeing as Neville's parents were part of Snow's COA, they deemed it right to give him seven slips each, which added to the five he already had for being seventeen, amounted to nineteen slips.

Neville just shrugged as if he didn't care, but I squeeze his arm reassuringly all the same.

Luna, as I predicted, got the least number of slips so far- two plus four for sixteen years of age- six slips. She's about as safe as you can get. I smile at her but she was still staring at the window outside with her signature dreamy face.

Harry's next, five from James and four from Lily, with the five from being seventeen- fourteen slips. My fists tighten and I saw his do the same on my right. I give him a sad smile and he gave me one back. Laying my hand on his knee for reassurance, I anxiously awaited mine and Ron's fate.

Ten… eleven… Four from Dad, three from Mom. I guess we're pretty lucky to not have more than that. I feel really sorry for Neville and Harry but thankful for the rest as well.

"Let's go check the database."

Lots and lots of random names paired off with varying numbers pop into the screen, the list getting smaller and smaller as it reached the District 12 master list. There were at least a hundred names in there, which made me breathe a small sigh of relief. Hermione's already calculating the figures in her head.

"Ten slips are the average for seventeen-year-olds, nine for sixteen. Over-all, it's around eight. The least number of slips is four from a twelve-year-old girl named Elyrah Caldswell. The most is thirty-five from an eighteen-year-old guy called Willychar Heldson. He's the one whose parents were part of the Council and apparently, he's related to almost every Head Gamemaker for the past ten years, except for Crane and Heavensbee."

"Whoa. No way."

"I don't envy that guy."

"Poor him."

"Guess those advanced mental statistics lessons paid off, eh Hermione?"

Shooting me a grateful smile, she answered, "It did." Ron chuckled and slung an arm around Hermione, "That's my girl." She leans into him and sighed. "There's a chance that none of us might get reaped, you know. Then we can just forget about this whole ordeal and continue with our lives."

"I wish, Hermione," replies Neville tiredly, "but if I get reaped-"

"Don't say that," cut in Harry sharply, "You're not going to get reaped. Not one of us is. It's not gonna happen, okay? I'm not allowing it."

Neville just nodded resignedly, "Whatever you say, Harry."

* * *

"Hey."

Peeta looks up from his overflowing trunk into his girlfriend's smiling face. "Hi."

"Are you done?" she asks from her place on the door post, gesturing to the fine mess of clothes and art supplies that Peeta was supposed to be packing for his trip back to the Capitol. He raised an eyebrow, "Does it look like I'm done?"

Katniss chuckles and joins him on the floor, picking up a stray shirt and a charcoal pencil along the way. "No. Imma help you, alright?"

"That eager for me to leave, are you?"

She just chucked another shirt at him in reply. He laughs, placing a sloppily folded blazer into the bag. Clicking her tongue, she takes the garment and folds it neatly before tucking it back into the trunk.

"I'll fold all the clothes. You take your art thingies and shoes and place them in a separate backpack," she commanded. Knowing better than argue, he hastily follows her orders and they work side-by-side for half an hour, successfully filling up Peeta's trunk with everything that he'll need for the trip.

Closing the lid with a snap, Peeta turns to where Katniss was lounging on their bed, arms and legs spread everywhere. "Who would've thought that packing would take a lot out of the Girl on Fire?" he teases.

Katniss makes a rude hand gesture at him before letting her hand dropping back into the bed. He chuckles and made his way to the bed. Propping his head on an arm bent at the elbow, he looks down contentedly at her face.

"I'm going to the Capitol tomorrow. Real or not real?"

"Real."

"I'm going to mentor a pair of Capitol kids who has lived here for the past three years. Real or not real?"

"Real."

"You don't like it. Real or not real?"

"Not re- Real."

He smiled. "You're going to miss me. Real or not real?"

Instead of answering, Katniss reached up and dragged Peeta's face to meet hers. Looking directly into his shining blue eyes, she whispered, "Real." She closes the gap between their lips and captures his mouth in a searing kiss. He opens up his lips and her tongue reached forward to dance with his. He shifts until he was laying half on top of her on the bed, keeping an arm around her waist and another on her hip. She breaks the kiss to press urgent kisses along his jaw line and nibbled on his left ear lobe teasingly. His hand travelled up and down her sides, pushing her dark green shirt up so he can feel her skin.

Distractedly, she breaks away and tugs her shirt over her head before continuing to press kisses all over his face, and down his neck. He groaned at the sensation of feeling Katniss' bare, scar-worn chest against him, leaving his hands free to roam all over the exposed flesh.

Eventually, more and more clothes joined Katniss' shirt on the floor, and Peeta's impending departure was soon forgotten.

* * *

"Are you nervous, Peeta?"

Peeta scratches at the back of his neck awkwardly, "I guess. I'm scared, of course. I just hope they don't hate me."

Delly pats him on the back reassuringly, "They'll love you! Now go and get onto that train. I'll meet you in a few, after they say their goodbyes."

He nods confidently and headed in the general direction of the train station, giving Delly a final wave. Katniss and Haymitch were going to meet him in the train station to say their goodbyes.

He passes the bakery on the way, and internally debated about telling Minerva about his mentor role, but decided against it. She doesn't need to know, and he believes in her ability to keep the shop going without him. He'll only be gone for a few weeks anyway. Vaguely, he hopes that the teenagers she was talking about have good baking skills.

Haymitch waves cheerily at him once he gains sight of him, an arm slung carelessly around Katniss, who was trying to get it off without success.

Peeta's stride turns into a brisk jog, and he was able to reach them in no time at all.

"Hey guys! Well this brings back memories, doesn't it?" he asks, looking up sentimentally at the trains.

Katniss nods, giving up in trying to get Haymitch's arm off her. "Hopefully, your tributes get the same fate as my latest ones did!" Haymitch barked, laughing uproariously.

Peeta smiles, "I hope so, Haymitch!",and tried to discreetly pick up the brandy flask Haymitch was loosely holding in his left hand. Haymitch sharply pulled it away and gave Peeta the stinkeye.

"Good luck, kid. I'll leave you two alone to say goodbye. I don't want to retch."

Katniss shakes her head but gives him a little, mocking wave. She turns to Peeta. "So this is it, huh?"

He takes her hands, "Only for a few weeks. I'll be back before you know it with a victor in tow. Or victors if I can convince Paylor."

"You're still onto that? Paylor won't allow it, trust me. Twenty-three children are gonna die so if I were you, I'd just focus my attention on the better survivor."

He presses his lips into each fingertip, "That's hardly fair, isn't that? I'll try to help them both equally. And you just stay here and do whatever you want to do and when those kids win I'm going back home and we can just forget all about it, okay?"

Katniss just nods her head resignedly and reaches up to kiss him full on the lips. Just as the train let out a loud rumble, they broke apart.

"Call me, if you ever need anything, okay? I love you."

Katniss nods, her hand lingering on Peeta's cheek. "I will. You do too, okay? I love you. You'll do great, I know it."

Peeta smiles and jumps onto the train, waving cheerily at Katniss, all the way.

* * *

**A/N: I hope the pace is not too slow. Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Oh my Finnick, I realized I hadn't published this one yet! I was looking through the stats because my work on Chapter 5 is kinda slow and I wondered why there's only three chapters in Staying Safe when I knew Chapter 4 was already finished! Argh! So here's for you, extremely sorry, guys! XD**

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys, this is Chapter 4, which I just finished adding some more stuff to. I just want to thank all those who've read and reviewed so far, you guys rock! XD Especially you, Zeviz. Thanks so much again!**

**I'm already planning on what's going to happen in the Games, but I'm still undecided on the stylists. So anyway, I really put a lot of work in this chapter, since it's the reaping and all. I really hope you liked this one 'cause I worked so hard on it. Tell me what you think in the reviews! There are lots of people who alert and favorite and I really want to know what you guys think!**

**Oh, and can anyone suggest a beta? I still don't have one and I think he/she can really help me a lot since English isn't my native language. Okay, I'm done. Enjoy!**

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Chapter Four: The Reaping

I bundle my winter coat tighter around my shoulders, trying to keep away the harsh, biting wind from touching my skin. Today's the day of the reaping. And it's snowing. Hard.

Our boots leave deep imprints on the ground and my hair is being forcibly blown back from my face and whipping behind me like some kind of flag. I would go back and fit a cap or a hat on top of my head, but we're already late enough as it is.

"Come on, Ginny. We're almost there, keep going."

I look up at Harry's smiling face and realize that I've been lagging behind. He holds out a hand and I take it, increasing my pace until I'm beside him. "I think they picked the _worst _day to hold the reaping." I huff, trying to catch my breath. When did this steep slope get here?

"Yeah, but just think, after all of this is over, we can sit by the fire and drink hot chocolate with an excuse," he teases, swinging his arm around my shoulders.

I giggle, it was a running joke around the apartment- Harry, hot chocolate and I. Hermione always scolds us, telling us that we shouldn't waste the cocao and drink it even when the sun is up and shining, but we can't help it! Those warm mugs of warm, chocolatey goodness were better than any comfort food ever made.

I sigh, just the thought of it made me feel warm inside already. I wrap an arm around Harry's waist and marched determinedly to the town square. Time to get this over with.

District 12's town square is more alive and lively for the past three years than it has ever been. I remember plopping down on the couch at our house at the Capitol and looking at it during the reapings, imagining how lonely and miserable the people must be to live in such a dreadful place.

Today though, the town square and Justice Building are gleaming with life and activity, and of course, children awaiting their fates. As is tradition, a roped-off area kept all the children in their proper places, while most of the parents and other citizens were gathered at the remaining space, excitedly awaiting the reaping for the first time in their lives.

We had just finished registering with those awful Peacekeepers and are going to go to our respective age- and gender- classified places.

"I guess we'll see you later." Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and even Luna nodded anxiously, before parting ways. Hermione gave Ron a fierce kiss on the lips that had us all looking away, before joining us in the girls' section. She gave Luna and I each a hug and we returned just as eagerly. I gripped Luna's hand as we joined the rest of the sixteen-year-olds.

There were considerably less people this year than the 74th Games, of course, and it only increased my nervousness. Less odds in our favor, after all. I craned my neck and tried to spy where Ron, Harry, and Neville were standing. Ron was already mouthing words of reassurance to an increasingly grim Hermione. Neville was staring straight at the stage, unmoving. But Harry stared back straight at me, and cracked a grin. Just like that, all my worries melted away. We're going to get pass this, I know it. I give him a wide smile back before refocusing my attention on the makeshift platform.

Delly Cartwright has taken over the post of Effie Trinket as District 12's escort, and was her usual bubbly self as she chatted away as to what an honor it was to stand before us today and how she's looking forward to working with the two tributes for today.

After a while, Delly says the dreaded words "Let's start with the girls!" and skips over happily to the glass ball on her left. I bite my lip and squeeze Luna's hand tightly, glancing sideways at her nervously. She looks straight ahead with her usual vacant, yet dreamy stare and whispers, "They're not gonna pick you, Ginevra. The nargles never lie."

I smile at her and squeeze her hand. "Neither will they you, or Neville, or Hermione, or Ron, or Harry. Wanna know a secret?"

She shrugs, "Sure."

I bite my lip a little in amusement and whisper back, "After all of this is over, Harry and I are going to raid that little cabinet were Hermione keeps all the hot chocolate packets. She thinks we don't know, but Neville let it slip last year. We've been sneaking it out at night."

Luna giggles airily and we both look back at the stage where Delly's happily rummaging around the glass ball, having a wee bit too much fun in shuffling the little pieces of paper, if I do say so myself.

I try to joke around, keep the atmosphere in my mind and Luna's light, because the alternate is just too painful to think about. I have to believe that at the end of the day, the six of us will be back at our apartment, whole and together, and avoiding the TVs as much as we can.

"Alright, here it is! What an unusual name! Anyway, the female tribute to represent District 12 for the 76th Hunger Games is…"

She takes a deep breath and adjusts her mouthpiece, trying to prolong the announcement, smiling all the way. Oh, just spit it out!

"Luaena Lovegood!"

_Luaena… Luaena… Luaena Lovegood…_

It takes a while for the pronouncement to register into my brain. Luaena… Luna… my best friend… the girl standing beside me…

It wasn't possible! I was worried about Hermione, Neville and Harry, sure, but not Luna. Never Luna. It just wasn't- this is all so unreal! Luna can't go into the Games, not Luna, who can't hurt a fly.

Her body stiffens a little, but other than that, she gave no other indication of… anything. She walks calmly, with precise, controlled steps to the platform. Her hand slips away from mine and her radish earrings bounce with every step she takes. Delly watches her come up, smiling encouragingly and asking the others to make way. I watch in horror as Peacekeepers stood guard on each side of her and blocked my view. That when I snapped.

I push roughly past all the other girls, occasionally elbowing Peacekeepers along the way. My only focus was to get to Luna and keep her away from that stage. I duck another rope and catch her by the wrist. She looks confusedly at me, as if she can't understand why I'm here and what I'm doing, but it doesn't matter. Luna's not entering the bloody Games, not on my watch.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" To my credit, my voice didn't come out as a scream, or a gasp, or a sob even. It came out controlled, stoic, and almost expressionless. I shove Luna, who was still looking as confused as ever, to Neville's arms and took her place, ascending the steps and standing behind Delly.

I don't even know if volunteers were allowed, but I don't care. These Games destroyed my family once, I'm sure as hell not letting that happen again. By this time, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had also come to the front.

"Ginny…"

Luna's being held back by Neville, but the tears were flowing freely. I can see her trying to gasp up air, I look her in the eyes and smile, "It's just a game, Luna. I'll be back soon."

Delly clears her throat and gently pulls me away from my friends. "There'll be time for goodbyes later. I'm sorry," she whispers. I give her a sad smile which she returned before quickly returning her attention to the audience.

"Well that was certainly exciting! What's your name dear?"

"Ginevra Weasley." I answer tonelessly.

"Ginevra Weasley, yes. Well, what's your relation to Ms. Lovegood?"

"She's my best friend."

"Admirable. And how old are you, dear?"

"Sixteen."

"Well, that's nice. There you have it, ladies and gentlemen: our female tribute for the 76th Hunger Games, Ms. Ginevra Weasley."

A small smattering of applause greeted me, but I have eyes only for Luna, who at the moment is being held by Neville. She looked up at me and mouthed a teary 'thank you' before joining the applause. Vaguely, I realize that this was the longest Luna's been acting normal.

Next, I try to meet Hermione's eyes, but she was looking down and clenching and unclenching her fists. She must've thought she should've been the one who volunteered, should've been the first to put her life in line. She has always been the most responsible, most 'motherly' out of all of us. I try to give her a reassuring smile, but she won't look up.

Ron was glaring furiously at the Panem seal on the Justice Building, high above me. I just wish I know what he's thinking, but at the same time, I'm scared I won't like it. Harry, however, I just hope he won't do anything stupid.

"The male tribute for District 12 in this year's Hunger Games is… Harrius Potter!"

Well today is just full of surprises, isn't it? Harry comes up the stage, eyes fixed determinedly on me, the corners of his lips quirking the tiniest fractions up. Why is he freakin' laughing? Does he find all of this amusing? What the hell?

Delly claps enthusiastically and urges us to shake hands as she introduces us to the rest of Panem.

As Harry shakes my hand, the only coherent thought running through my mind was _'Fuck.'_

* * *

Delly leads us excitedly through the reformed Justice Building and into a small, well-furnished room where we're supposed to say our goodbyes. Harry had been able to convince Delly to place us in the same room since we have common friends anyway.

"Alright, I'll leave you to say your goodbyes because after this we're going to go to the Capitol! See you later!"

Then she slams the door in our faces. Classy.

Before I was able to utter a single word, four teenagers burst through another door and were sucking us into a giant group hug.

"I'm sorry, Ginny. I'm really sorry! You shouldn't have- shouldn't have done that!"

I twirl around Luna's radish earrings as I answer her, staring at a particularly interesting painting on the wall. "I had to, Luna. You know that. Besides, it's just a game, right? I'll be back before you know it. Trust me."

Luna nods and smiles unconvincingly, but pulls away and withdraws what looks like a band of colorful, braided feathers interwoven with various stones. "This is one of my Dad's models for the by-products of a Fornal. It never quite did make it to the books, but it's one of my favourite creatures. Bring it to the arena as your district token? Please?"

By now, the other guys were all crowding around Harry, giving Luna and I our moment together. I stare at the bracelet, it was a thin, bright band, the feathers woven tightly and the stones caught securely in the knots. It was, simply put, beautiful. I nod, my throat thick with tears. Luna didn't have much of her father's belongings, and I know it must've cost her a lot to give this to me.

I slip the band into my left wrist and give Luna another hug. "Thank you," I whisper into her ear. She nods once and breaks away, smiling widely. "Beware of Nargles!"

Luna was barely out of my sight when I was suddenly attacked by a tall, redheaded blur. Ron's arms were tight around me, my head tucked securely under his chin. "Why'd you do that, huh? Why'd you do it?" he whispered fiercely. I buried my face in his chest and try to commit the sensation of his warm body and low voice, this might be the last time I ever saw him and I'm not wasting it.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I had to do it. Luna won't stand a chance in the arena, you know that. Besides, Mum made me take those silly gymnastics lessons when I was four onward, it builds reflexes, I might have a chance. And don't forget Quidditch!"

I can feel him nod, but when he spoke next, his voice was thick with tears, "I know you'd volunteer the moment Luna's name was called. It's what makes you Ginny after all." Ron rarely cried, and hearing him choked up over my imminent death did nothing to keep my own tears from flowing. "I know you'd understand." I replied.

"And I know you'd also try to protect Harry yourself." He whispered lowly, his arms tightening. I held my breath. _Of course I would!_ Harry-he was my rock, my anchor. And if sparing him meant my own death, then so be it. I was a living corpse the moment Luna's name was called.

"Ron…"

"Don't deny it!

"I won't!" I retorted, feeling rather defensive. I pull away and glare at him, and he glared right back. It's _my_ choice, isn't it? If I choose to protect Harry and sacrifice myself, well that's _my_ decision. The alternative was just… unthinkable.

He looks away first and sighs resignedly, "Stay safe."

I nod and hugged him once more. He kissed me on the cheek once before he went back and said his goodbyes to Harry. Hermione reached forward and gave me one of her usual bear-hugs.

"Listen, Ginny. I just want you to know, I'm so proud of you. I know, logically, I should've been the one… should've been more responsible…"

I opened my mouth to negate her, to tell her that she _shouldn't _have, but she silenced me with a look. Staring me straight in the eye, she whispers, "You can do it. I know you can. But you won't because Harry's with you, am I correct? No, don't answer that. Listen, you're flexible, you're fast, you've got great reflexes. Find a weapon, a deadly long-aim one, and a lightweight you can use with multiple opponents closing in. I'd recommend a mace, there's bound to be one in there. Don't forget the survival stations you'll need those too. Learn to hunt and know the difference between edible and inedible plants. You have to be prepared for different environments…"

"Let Ginny breathe, Hermione. She's going to learn all of those in training anyway," cut in Neville amusedly.

Hermione grins half-sheepishly, half-nervously. She gives me one last hug and said, "Just try to… live as long as possible."

I grin ruefully at her and let her go, sinking into Neville's embrace instead. "I'm not going to go all mushy on you, okay? I just want you to promise me one thing, alright?"

I nod. I have a pretty good idea what it was, I did go through Ron and Hermione…

"Go kick some ass, yeah?"

I stare at him incredulously for a while, taking in his highly amused smile and eager eyes.

I burst out laughing and nod enthusiastically. "You bet I will."

"That's all I want to know. Get home soon, okay?"

I nod, still laughing and look at all four of them. Luna had just pulled away from Harry and now all of them were looking at both of us. Both Hermione and Luna had tears in their eyes, Ron had tried to wipe his off, but the rims were red. Neville was the only one who didn't. He looked… weary. It was then that I felt guilty about leaving my friends. I know they can live on their own, we've been doing it for three years. But, the thought of actually leaving them, it's unbearable. I know it would hurt if two others in our group were sent into a battle to the death where their survival were uncertain and there's a possibility that one might kill the other- it hurts, a lot. And that's saying something when most of your family was killed in a war you've actually seen.

"I'll miss you, guys," I choked out. They all grinned ruefully up at us. "Just try to win…"

"TIME'S UP!" a burly Peacekeeper called out, opening the door violently and almost dragging my friends out.

"Wait, just give us a moment!" Harry tried, but they were nowhere in sight anymore.

I sighed, "No more hot choco by the fire for us." He chuckles unhappily, "I bet there'll be lots of other drinks in the Panem trains. Even better than hot chocolate!"

"Nothing beats hot chocolate," I mumble. Just then, the door opens one more time to reveal a tall, lean woman with graying hair up in a bun and a chubby little girl with short, brown pigtails.

"Professor McGonagall?" asks Harry, astonished.

"Hello, Mr. Potter, Ms. Weasley. Do call me Minerva. Have you met my niece, Demelza Robbins? She's five."

We look down on the little brown-haired girl and give her a small wave. She beams back brightly at us and I can't help feeling thankful that she's never going to go the Games.

"I just-" Minerva cleared her throat, "I never knew you were in District 12."

I glance sideways as Harry answered, "We never knew _you_ were here, Prof- Minerva."

"I'm sorry our reunion is at such dire circumstances. I had recently gotten in contact with Filius after all these years and when he told me that you six were here, well, you can guess how surprised I was. I took a job here, in Mr. Mellark's bakery, to support Demelza three years ago, and I never knew you lived here."

"To be fair, we were at school most of the time," I answer politely.

Minerva nods distractedly, then she grips us both on the shoulders with surprisingly firm hands and looks us both slowly in the eyes. "Be careful, okay?"

We nod slowly, too shocked to speak. Minerva nods and quickly lets us go, picking up Demelza and rushing out of the door. I think I saw some tears dripping down her cheeks, but that could be my imagination. Minerva McGonagall doesn't cry.

* * *

Soon enough, Delly comes back and accompanies us to a shuttle that would lead to the train station. Along the way, she prattles on and on about how our mentor would be glad to have such healthy and fit-looking tributes, how my feat of volunteering was completely unprecedented, but that most good things in life are, how admirable our attitudes in front of the camera were, how the stylist and prep team won't have any trouble with us at all…

Meanwhile, I was having another conflict with my inner self. I volunteered to keep Luna safe, yes. But now I'm wondering how they would react to seeing me and Harry fight to the death with twenty-two other children. How would Ron react? Oh, and there's Ron, he didn't like the stunt I pulled, I know that. And I also know that he's angry with himself because he wouldn't have been able to volunteer for me since he's a boy. And Harry- Harry's stronger than Ron, and we all know it.

Harry was still in the Capitol when the rebel bombs hit. He shielded a few toddlers and burned his arms and a small part of his back. He almost didn't make it and had to spend a few months in intensive care.

Speaking of Harry, how do I… how do I keep him safe in this? I'll form an alliance with him, that's for sure, but he knows me well enough to see if I'm trying to protect myself or him, and Harry Potter's nothing but selfless. These Games might be more complicated than I thought. When the time comes, do I really have it in me to kill other people in order to protect him? Do I actually love him enough to sacrifice my life for his own? I know, as soon as I ask myself, that yes is the answer to both questions. I died when the rebels broke my family, and these past three years I've been learning to live again. Dying should be easier this time around, right? Especially if it means saving Harry who, out of all the people I know, deserve everything that life has to offer.

I look up at the strong, young man sitting besides me, smiling politely at Delly's rapid chatter, taking in his bright, emerald green eyes and vowed to myself, then and there, that the light would never leave them, not today, not tomorrow, and not in the days to come. The only way that Harry's going to die is old and balding, happy, safe, and warm in his bed, an old, old man who had lived a long, happy life. Ironically, I also caught sight of my own brown orbs at the side mirror of the shuttle. I try imagining the light leaving them and gasping out my last breath. The image of an unidentifiable place quickly forms in my mind, my weak and bleeding body laying in the middle of other dead tributes and I shut my eyes, trying to drown out the way it easily came and how, in a few days, it could very well be reality.

Before I know it, we're in the train station, cameras flashing away and nearly blinding us. Delly smiles at all of them like she usually does and leads us into our compartments. As I take in the fancy interior and artificial, pleasant atmosphere, I keep out a sigh of pleasure as I realize- I'm going home.

* * *

**Review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/n at the bottom**

Chapter Five-Mentors and Tributes

"Did you see them? Seen them on the telly? How 'bout the competition? D'ya think you'll have a hard time? I sure hope not. Harrius and Ginevra seem tough enough. I sure hope one of them wins. And they make such a cute couple too, no?"

Peeta struggles to make sense out of Delly's fast onslaught of questions. "Yes, Delly, I saw them. I also saw the reapings from the other districts, but I think it's too soon to judge yet. Yes, they seem tough, and I think training would do them wonders." He deliberately refuses to answer the last question. There's something about Potter and Weasley, something that reminds him of himself and Katniss in an unclear, twisted way. The fact that Ginevra had volunteered undeniably reminds him of Katniss. He wonders how Plutarch and his team are taking this. He hopes they won't give the girl a hard time.

"They're in the reception train now. Come on, I'll introduce you." Delly reaches out to pull Peeta from his seat and leads him quickly to another compartment where the tributes were.

The reception compartment's a wide, well-furnished train equivalent of a living room, with comfortable couches and armchairs scattered all around. A small bar stood near the edge, facing the windows, under which both Harry and Ginny sit nervously. They give twin gasps of awe as he appeared.

Peeta ignores it and holds out his hand casually at them, "Peeta Mellark, at your service."

Delly giggles at their gob smacked expressions, "Tributes, meet your mentor. He's going to give you advice and plan strategies with you and organize your sponsor gifts."

They slowly stand up and shake Peeta's hand in turn. "Call me Harry."

"I'm Ginny."

The boy, Harry, is of average height, with a shock of messy, raven hair and bright emerald-green eyes. Ginny's shorter by a few inches, with a mane of long, auburn hair, warm, chocolate-brown eyes and a healthy amount of freckles dusting her nose and cheeks. Peeta easily towers over them both.

Peeta smiles, "Nice to meet you, Harry and Ginny. Why don't we head over to the dining car and talk over lunch, hmm? You can leave your coats there. Someone will take them to your rooms."

"That'll be grand," Harry answers, taking Ginny's hand and leading her over to the doors. Delly looks pointedly at their joined hands, but Harry just grins cheekily at her. Ginny laughs and swats at his hand. "We're just friends, really."

"Of course," Peeta teases, joining easily in the banter. Ginny's cheeks flush red and Harry ducks his head. Peeta laughs, he had a feeling he would get along with these kids just fine.

Sliding easily to the head of the table, he places some roast beef and mashed potatoes into his plate. He critically examines the basket of rolls before picking out a couple and placing those on his plate as well. He pours himself a green concoction, which he had identified as avocado and berry shake- which actually tastes good despite the odd combination- and passes the pitcher around to the others. At their doubting looks, he nods eagerly and comments, "It's really good."

They all hesitantly pour it into their glasses and take small sips. Their faces bloom in awe and hungrily grope for some more.

For a while, there's silence except for the clanking of utensils against plates as everyone quietly devours their lunch.

"So, Harry, Ginny- may I call you that?" At their nods, Peeta continues, "How'd you feel about going back to the Capitol?"

Ginny freezes, before slowly placing back her glass on the table and laying her napkin on her lap. Harry glances sideways at her, but quickly resumes eating. Peeta notices how his left hand left the dinner table, though.

Ginny smiles pleasantly, but he can see through it quite well. "It'll be nice to go back and see how much has changed." She says conversationally, with the air of someone discussing the weather.

Delly nods approvingly, chirping, "I've never seen it before, so I'm quite excited", and looks expectantly at Harry.

"Oh, er… I dunno. It'd be… fun, I guess?" The poor kid looked like a squirrel caught in one of Katniss' snares.

Peeta nods distractedly and returns to his lunch as silence reigned once more over the table. After a while, he lets his fork fall into the plate with an ominous _clang._

"Right, we all know what we're here for, so why don't you two tell me something about yourselves? Delly, can you maybe ask Mafell to clear this up?"

Delly nods eagerly and quickly exits the compartment.

Peeta cleared his throat and carefully scanned the compartment for a while.

"Tell me about your strengths, your weaknesses, something we can play up in the arena."

The kids look at each other uncertainly before Harry offered up hesitantly, "Quidditch?"

Peeta blinks uncomprehendingly, "Is that some sort of food?"

Ginny smiles and laughs giddily, "It's a Capitol sport. I'm guessing they don't have it in the Districts."

The kids enthusiastically launch into an explanation and Peeta could see the passion they have for the game. If they're this passionate about a sport, maybe they could have enough passion and spirit to keep themselves alive.

"It's not very popular since it involves actual physical exercise," Ginny offers.

"Basically, you try to shoot a ball through three hoops and catch another to earn points," explains Harry enthusiastically, looking for all the world as if he's warming up for a lengthy explanation, eyes and cheeks bright with excitement.

"There are seven players for each team: a Keeper, three Chasers, two Beaters, and a Seeker." Ginny continues from where Harry left off flawlessly. "There are three balls too: the Quaffle, two bludgers, and the Golden Snitch. The Snitch is very important because whoever catches it earns a hundred and fifty points for their team."

"Excuse me, but how exactly does one catch the er… snitch?" Peeta asks, feeling completely bewildered, as if he's listening in on an inside joke and wondering at where the conversation took a sudden turn.

Ginny's eyes widen, "Oh! Didn't tell you that, did we?"

"The Snitch is a tiny golden ball with 'wings'. It's programmed by a controller outside of both teams to fly around the pitch at breakneck speeds. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. I was a Seeker in our team ever since I was seven," says Harry proudly.

"The game ends when the Seeker catches the snitch. And then, of course, the team with the most points win. I was a Chaser in Harry's team ever since I was eight."

Peeta frowns thoughtfully. He didn't think he'd ever get used to all these Capitol oddities. "And this will help you how?"

The two faltered in their speech, and Peeta immediately felt bad. They were just kids who never expected to fight anything in their life.

"I helped build stamina. And um, upper body strength." Ginny's tone went up at the end, like she was asking a question, and Harry scratches at the back of his neck uncertainly.

"We ran! And jogged. And sprinted. A lot." He adds lamely.

Peeta considers this for a moment. Speed is a valuable skill to have in the arena, so they could run around the other tributes and grab some supplies in the Cornucopia or outrun other tributes hunting them down. Or to steal weapons and backpacks that could give food for days.

"What else?" he asks eagerly, the wheels in his head already turning furiously.

"Harry has some knowledge on fencing. James made him take some fencing lessons."

Harry's cheeks darken and Peeta hid a smirk.

"Ginny's really agile and flexible. Molly enrolled her in a gymnastics class since she was three. One time, she climbed up Luna's bedroom from the outside with no hand holds at all."

Ginny turns away, trying to hide her own blush, and Peeta burst out laughing. Harry ducks his head, but didn't let go of her hand.

_We're just friends, my prosthetic foot._

"Go to your rooms, you two, and get some rest. I'll talk to you again in a little while."

They both nod and practically ran out of the compartment just as Delly comes back in.

"So, what's the plan?" she asks, sitting back across him.

"They said they've got speed, stamina, some fencing experience for Harry and gymnastics for Ginny. There's a lot we can do with that."

"I like their names too, leaves an impression. Could be helpful."

"Yeah. Harry and Ginny- the orphans from District 12," added Peeta glumly.

"Oh don't dwell on that too much!" Delly admonishes, pulling her blonde hair into a high ponytail. "It's been three years, enough to cope and adjust. Well, for us anyway. Ugh, why is it so warm in here?"

"Capitol tech," Peeta responds, shrugging. "Guess they did. They seem really comfortable with each other, too. Something in the way they interact tells me they've been through _a lot _together…"

He trails off, lost in thought.

"They're really close," Delly agrees. "I was the one who fetched them from the Justice Building, you know, after they said their goodbyes to their friends. I think they've lived without a grownup for a while. They know how to take care of themselves."

Peeta sighs, absent mindedly chewing on a corn roll, "They're going to have a really hard time killing each other."

"I think they won't," Delly says slowly, as if testing the words on her tongue, "I think they'd be trying to keep the other alive."

"Like Katniss and I used to?" he asked softly, not looking directly at her.

She winced, now only realizing the implication of her words, but nodded. An uncomfortable silence seemed to permeate the air between the two friends, until Peeta finally said, "I guess we'll just have to keep an eye on them then, won't we?"

* * *

I enter the room a servant pointed out to me and quietly close the door behind me. All I want to do is just to collapse on the bed and fall asleep, never to wake up.

But I can't do that. Because of Harry.

I slide down the door and tuck my knees into my chest, burying my face in my legs, much like I used to do back home when the violence on the AVDD* got too much to bear.

_Harry._

I left him quite suddenly once we reached the residence cars and out of our mentor's sight. I told myself that I was just imagining the momentary flicker of disappointment that crossed his face when I just about slammed the door in his face.

This day has just been one giant nightmare, and it's only noon! A strong wind howled from the windows and I let it, wanting to feel the cold seep into my bones and into my heart, then maybe then I'd be able to find murdering children I used to know a little easier.

Warmth radiated from the dining compartment we'd just left, and I was hoping that the snowfall would've stopped by the time we finished. I'm grateful it didn't, now.

I picked at the sleeves of my thin, pale yellow blouse. I left my coat in the dining car and now I'm left wearing one of Hermione's old blouse and a pair of faded trousers Neville used to own. _I miss them already._

Holding out my wrist, I squint at the bracelet Luna had given me. It really is beautiful, the feathers' colors blending smoothly with cool blues, pale yellows, soft oranges, warm reds, bright greys and shiny bronzes. They interweave flawlessly, not letting anyone knew where it started or ended. Upon closer inspection, the circles I thought were solid stones earlier turned out being hollow spheres.

I jump back in surprise as I see one pulse. My jaw dropped as I turn it around. Yes, they were pulsing, like tiny hearts. I stand up and peered at a red sphere closer, bringing the bracelet level with my eyes. Could it be?

I place it on my palm and cup it with my other hand, making sure that no light entered my cupped hands. I slowly brought it up to my eye and smiled gleefully when I saw it glow. The bracelet glows in the dark! This could be very, very helpful in the arena. Internally thanking Luna, I skipped over to the bed, spirits high.

I didn't bother changing my clothes. Tired as I was from the day's events, I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

* * *

An insistent tapping on my door eventually wakes me up. I glance at the frosted window and see that the snow still hasn't let up. My body feels so refreshed from my sleep that I can't help but smile.

"Just a sec!" I call out, bounding over to the closet and picking out the first shirt I can find- a green, sleeveless tank top. I also put on a pair of cream-colored trousers and slippers. My old clothes were folded neatly and placed at the edge of my bed.

Delly was standing in the hallway when I went out, a giddy smile fixed on her cheery face, as always.

"Hey Ginny! I'm sorry I had to disturb your nap but dinner's ready and we're going to arrive at the Capitol early tomorrow morning and I figured you'd want to eat now because we won't be able to have as much time having breakfast tomorrow so there! I think Peeta wants to talk to you as well, so get up lazybones!"

I stand transfixed at Delly's uncanny ability to not run out of breath with so many things to say, almost like Hermione actually…

I shake my head. _Don't think about that._

"Okay," I respond, letting her link her arm through mine and lead me to the dining car. Maybe my time here won't be so grim, after all.

* * *

*Audio-Visual Display Device

**A/N: Okay, sorry for the long wait, you guys! I can't seem to write this chapter the way I want to and I just spent weeks rewriting it. Ugh. It's shorter than my others, too. More ugh. So what do you think of their first real interactions with each other? Oh, and did you see the new spell-check option in Doc Manager? Totally awesome, that is. Anyway, so to anyone who wants to know how Quidditch works here, just PM me or something. It's not that related to the plot anyway. **

**And a thank you to all who followed or favorited, this chapter's for you guys: A Daydream Away, RavenatNight, and Golden Thorn.**

**lilylovesfabian: Thanks, dear! Here you go!**

**Lucy Stark: Thank you! I was really worried about the flow, so thanks for the reassurance!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **So sorry for the long wait! I really have no excuse except that I'm such a geek and take school way too seriously. I never imagined sophomore year would be this hard! Anyway, this one's over 5,000 words, that's got to count for something, right?

READ: I was too tired to change the previous chapters but I renamed baby Finnick to 'Alohn'. It means wave in my native language, Filipino, if you remove the h.

Thanks again to everyone who's ever reviewed, favorited, and alerted Staying Safe.

Xoria, wiltt003, FullDarkNoLight, brittneyleighmurphy, that one anon Guest, A Daydream Away, Ali Claraissa Near, Jada Ryl, RavenAtNight, allie1207, nikki500, samtheepic33, Golden Thorn, silverlining1294, bemeself, emalinaloop, and kitnissluvspurta, bemeself, lilylovesfabian, Lucy Stark, raritybell, Melinda, Zeviz

Here's hoping you haven't given up on my story. So sorry if I forgot anyone.

* * *

Chapter Six: Going Home

* * *

"We really hope you won't hold back any of your talents from us, because we need to know _everything _about you in order to help you gain a workable strategy in the Games. Now, I'm just going to ask you a series of questions and I want you to answer as honestly as possible, okay?"

Peeta's earnest tone makes me nod my head out of habit. For the first time, I wonder just how much experience he has about dealing with these things. And how did he become a mentor in the first place? I know he's a victor and everything but I don't see Ms. Everdeen or Mr. Abernathy around.

"Okay, first. How much daily physical exercise do you get?"

"We jog around the neighbourhood a lot on early weekend mornings. There isn't much to see in Two, but it helps us to get ready for the day. Not all of us are morning persons, you know."

I grin at Harry's enthusiasm and he looks vaguely embarrassed before relaxing back into the couch.

"Oh yes, I forgot that you studied at that school. Did you ever join any sports club or any extra co-curricular activities?"

"What about that Quit Itch thing you were talking about?" Delly asks eagerly, blue eyes shining.

I bite my lip in anxiety. _We haven't played in three years._ Harry doesn't seem to have any qualms about telling everything about the sport to Peeta and Delly, though. I watch in amusement as he readily narrates all the exercises our trainers had us do all those fondly-remembered years ago. He tells them all about the stretches, warm-ups, jogs, passing and shooting manoeuvres, all the formations. I'm quite surprised he remembers them at all. By the end of Harry's little tale, Peeta and Delly were smiling from ear to ear.

"There's very little time when I wish I was born in the Capitol, but this is probably one of it," sighs Delly dreamily.

Harry and I chuckle good-naturedly as we finish our dessert- chocolate truffles on peach and mango puree.

"How about any deadly weapons? Do you have any experience with those?" asks Peeta, his own plate seemingly forgotten. I frown a little at the waste of such good food before answering him.

"There was a time," I begin hesitantly, "When we stayed at a friend of Auntie Muriel's in District Two. She gave us all a knife as a safety precaution. But she never told us how to use it so I'm pretty useless."

"No, no. You already got a feel of it if you know how to carry one," Delly argues, her thoughtful frown looking so out of place in her normally cheery face, "What you need is just a bit more of training, that's all."

Our night continued on in the same manner, with me and Harry reluctantly recounting half-finished sports lessons and late afternoon games. Then, Peeta and Delly would beam wonderfully at us, their eyes shining with gruelling training schedules, no doubt.

Before I went back to sleep that evening, I found myself perusing my temporary bedroom and noticing how much grander my old one used to be. Inevitably, this led to thinking of my old home, and Mum, and Dad, and my other brothers.

Sleep wasn't very peaceful that night, and my heart raced as soon as I realized the early vestiges of a nightmare.

The horrifyingly serene atmosphere of our executive village on the outskirts of Gryffindor floods my senses as I float home, customized hover-board on auto-pilot. As soon as our house comes into view, I knew something was wrong.

A frenzy of voices seems to emanate hauntingly loudly from the house, almost as if the sound comes out of an out-of-tune stereo on high volume. Suddenly, I was in the house and my Mum was taking me by the shoulders.

"You have to go! Go somewhere far away, okay? You're a good girl. Mum loves you, don't forget!"

She calls Ron and leads us both into the garage, where one of the long, black government cars was waiting for us. A faceless driver takes us into District 12, driving across the country at the speed of light so that the scenery flashes by in a dizzying array of either extremely bright or dull colours. Shrieking voices and blood-curdling moans accompany the light show and I press my hands tightly against my ears, my eyes shut closed. Ron didn't seem to notice. He either didn't see me, or didn't care.

We reach the Justice Building and come to an abrupt halt. The door on my left burns neatly away and I step out, dazed. I reach out a hand to help Ron out, but as I peer inside the car, no fourteen-year-old freckled redhead greets me. Instead, the present version of Ron, seventeen and bruised, blinks up at me. A large, open gash slices across his left cheek, showering most of the side of his neck with fresh blood. One eye was fully red, looking in a direction opposite of the other.

I hear an unearthly, high-pitched scream and realise that it came from me. Ron smiles up at me, an empty, ghostly grin set on his pale face and croaks out unintelligible words in a hoarse, scratchy voice.

Flames abruptly engulf the vehicle and Ron's eyes widen, the bright blue turning scarlet and panicked. His words come out faster, as if he was terrified I wouldn't be able to hear everything he says.

And I can't. I can't understand what he's trying to say. His panic affects me soon enough. I come to my senses and hasten to pull him away from the rapidly burning vehicle, but he shakes his head and vanishes completely, his hand slipping away from my tight grip.

Letting out another anguished cry, I turn to a rusting, concrete platform in front of the Justice Building. My shaking hands reach up to cover my mouth as tears continuously stream down my cheeks.

Bill and Charlie sit side by side on the platform, playing with Bill's multi-coloured braids. Charlie frowns when he catches sight of me, and they turn away. I force myself to run to them, pumping my legs and urging them to go faster, but the faster I run, the farther the platform seems to be.

I watch in horror as my oldest brothers turn away from me and enter the building. A large hovercraft drops several bombs and the looming structure promptly explodes into smithereens.

Surprisingly, I wasn't at all affected by the explosion. Looking around, I realise that I was in the meadow near the fence separating the district from the woods beyond. A sycamore tree stands on my left and looking up, I see Luna sitting leisurely on one of the branches. Her dress is the whitest I've ever seen and oddly enough, a slim slice of wood is stuck beneath one of her ears.

I immediately feel self-conscious, knowing that my own clothing would probably be stained from the explosion. My cheeks feel sticky with tears and-

"Use the bracelet, Ginny! It has protective charms on it!"

Luna's face appears to be everywhere at once. Everywhere I look, there she is. There's the oddest sensation of falling and I land safely on a scarlet couch. Harry sits on the other side, clutching at his forehead peculiarly. He looks up at me, emerald eyes glinting behind a pair of round glasses.

"You're the only one who can save me now, Ginny."

He's gone in a flash of green light.

And I find myself awake, staring into Harry's very much real, emerald green and uncovered eyes.

* * *

Peeta couldn't sleep. It had been a long time since he didn't go to bed without Katniss by his side, and he found that sleeping with her warm and reassuringly alive body next to his was the only comfort that allows him a peaceful slumber. Staring up at the polished ceiling of his suite, he tries to empty his mind of all thought and activity, focusing instead on his breathing and wishing it would slow down to the pace that sleeping people's breathing do.

In. Out. In. Out.

After a few more minutes of this exercise, he groans in frustration and rolls out of bed. Slipping on a pair of work pants he brought with him, he exits the room and heads for the breakfast bar. His feet pad heavily against the carpeted floors until they finally reach a metal door which swings open a nanosecond after the sensors on the floor sense his presence. Fetching himself a clear glass of water, he sits down on one of the cushioned stools. A shiny memory begins to creep along the edges of his vision and he blinks harshly to keep it away. A shaky hand brings the glass to his lips and he feebly swallows the cool liquid, wishing that it could drive the implanted memory away.

It was, of course, of no use.

A harsh, blinding face is visible above the surface of the water. Whoever it was is dragging him down wildly, limbs fighting to keep him below the surface. There's a foreign but excruciating pain originating from a place where his leg used to be and he can't focus enough to fight back against whoever it was.

He feels a current disturb the water, building huge waves and causing more water to pool in gushes into where he was in, wherever "here" was. The current pushes him against sharp, jagged rocks and his feet uncomfortably scratch something rough. A large creature, one his school teacher calls a shark, one which was supposed to exist only in his textbooks bit off a chunk of his arm and he watches in horror as his blood taints the water red.

The figure is back and pulls him even downward, its hand slapping against his uninjured arm and a leg planted firmly in his chest. Suffocation quickly becomes a threat and Peeta panics, accidentally inhaling large amounts of fresh or salt water, he didn't know. Blackness soon covers his eyes, and just before the world vanishes, Katniss' face-twisted grotesquely-appears before him, smirking murderously.

"Wake up, you useless freak! I want three trays of corn and truffle muffins in the oven in the next ten minutes or you're not having dinner for a week!"

Bright blue eyes flickers open groggily to find Mrs. Mellark stalking angrily away. Peeta warily obeys, knowing his mother meant every word she said. He sets out to pull metal trays from a suspended shelf when a low, growling bark echoes throughout the kitchen. The twenty-year-old freezes. He knew that sound...

A familiar shriek moves him into action and he runs into the front porch of their house, where his mother is being mauled by a wolf mutation. Her shrieks soon turn into whimpers as she takes her last breaths. He's rooted to the spot, unable to make any move to help her. He cries out, his voice rasping and unfamiliar to his ears. His mother's final words ring in his ears.

"You pathetic, worthless boy! Can't even save... your own mother..."

The mutation turns toward him next. Its light brown coat stands out starkly against the pale morning light and its unmistakable gray eyes stare right into his soul. The hate and murder in its eyes makes Peeta's breath catch in his throat and suddenly, suddenly, just as it leaps from the ground, humongous paws outstretched toward his neck...

He comes back to reality.

The breakfast bar. A glass of water. Dawn. Trains.

Truth.

Peeta awoke from the vision with his hands gripping the sides of the stool next to him. His glass of water is lying perfectly still on the countertop and his pyjamas stick to his skin as sweat comes out of his body in buckets.

"Not real," he whispers softly to himself, "not real."

Standing up, he puts the glass on the sink where a maid would pick it up the next morning. He leisurely makes his way back to his carriage, taking the time to clear his mind and calm his rapidly beating heart. Once again, he is bitterly reminded of just how much irreparable damage the Capitol has done to him. He was foolish to believe that the visions would leave him in a few, short years after the rebellion, but still he had hoped...

At least he's able to trust people now. He had learned to love again, and he knew it would be enough. It had to.

Tiny sobs and hushed words coming from the room he was passing made him stop in his tracks. The door is slightly ajar, but the persons making the sounds knew how to mask them well, and he wouldn't have been able to hear them if he wasn't passing where he was.

Against his better judgment, his hand pushes the door open a little bit more and he sticks his head partway through the gap between the door and the frame. At first, all that he could see in the darkness was a shaking figure being engulfed by a larger, hulking one. Upon closer inspection, the two looked a lot like his tributes.

Harry has his arms around a trembling Ginny, who's seated in his lap, hiccupping every now and then. The boy's face is hidden by her fiery hair as he touches their foreheads together. Peeta watches as Harry slowly moved his head to tuck Ginny's under his chin and place a soft kiss on the top of her head.

The tenderness and apparent intimacy in their actions make him feel like an intruder. Peeta tries to quietly close the door behind him and fails miserably when the banging sound reverberates along the corridor. He flinches and hurries back to his own room but a hand catches him in the wrist.

"Wait," Harry's voice commands. Peeta turns back sheepishly to find the seventeen-year-old looking at him with such an authoritative look in his face that Peeta was almost cowed; however, he isn't a Hunger Games victor for nothing.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Harry, who's there?" Ginny asks, coming up behind him and putting a calming hand on his arm. Peeta watches as the young man immediately relaxes.

"It's me, Peeta. Your mentor." He replies easily, in wonder of how much change Ginny's touch can bring to the young man before him. His heart hurts to think of what they had to have gone through at such an age that would make them able to have such familiarity with each other.

"Peeta? What are you doing here?"

Harry reaches up to pull Ginny's hand away from his arm and take it into his own. Ginny blushes slightly and Peeta looks on with his now usual amused grin.

"I- I heard you. I was walking from the breakfast train and I heard you guys doing... whatever you're doing."

The two nods so solemnly and Peeta scratches uncomfortably at the back of his neck as the silence stretched out before them. "Listen, I just want you to know that I know what it feels like. To relieve all the bad memories over and over and if you ever need anyone to talk to about them, I'm here. I've heard I'm a good listener."

Harry smiles at him, inclining his head, but Peeta is surprised when Ginny reaches forward to give him a brief hug.

"Thank you."

He nods jerkily once and turns away, back to his own, lonely bedroom. The sound of the metal door sliding close brings him a kind of loneliness he hasn't felt since his time in Thirteen. The downy mattress suddenly seems too big and his night clothes too stuffy as he laid down on the silky pillows.

He aches for home, the smells of District 12 that reminded him of the _good_ and Katniss' arms around him which made him feel so _alive_ and he wonders if it's wrong to miss something and someone he'd just left a mere few hours ago. He wishes he can stop feeling like it's bad to be so dependent on the things and relationships that he worked so hard to rebuild.

Turning to his side, his arms unconsciously reach out for Katniss. His brow furrows as he realises that she isn't there. His grip on the sheets tightens as he falls into a dreamless yet fitful sleep.

* * *

"Where are all the people?" asks Harry curiously, looking out the train window showing the scenery of the Capitol countryside, if it could be called that, a slight crease appearing between his eyebrows.

"They're all waiting in a stadium erected around the main Justice Building. President Paylor didn't want them crowding the station like they did before. She said they looked like they a bunch of desperate chickens hoping for treats." Delly explains gaily, laughing at Harry and Ginny's offended looks.

"The Gamemakers didn't want anyone to see you until the introductory chariot ride. The first people you're going to see are the staff of the remake centre."

"Speaking of which," Peeta interjects, staring wistfully at the passing scenery, "Haymitch told me that your stylists are going to be some of the veterans from District Thirteen. Of course, I'm not sure if that information is reliable or not since he was half-drunk at that time, but I guess we'll see soon enough."

The three had reached an unspoken agreement to keep silent of what happened the night before, and Delly remains blissfully unaware of their chance meeting. Peeta prefers it that way. His friend did have a way of talking about everything and he didn't want to risk his two tributes going all clam-like on him.

In due time, the train enters itself into the train station and the four finds themselves heading to the training centre in one of those fancy vehicles Peeta never bothered to know the names of.

Looking at the newly reconstructed Capitol Justice Building, Peeta would never have guessed that it had collapsed that fateful day. It looks exactly the same as it had the last time he had seen it, three years ago.

"Alright then, you kids go with Delly to the remake centre. I have to talk to some people first."

They nod distractedly, still looking around in wonder at the imposing building and making their way slowly to the elevators. Delly looks thrilled playing tour guide. With a jolt, he realises that they had never seen this place before except in the televisions.

Haymitch had informed him of a meeting between the mentors which takes place while the tributes were being done up in the remake centre. A flashing announcement on the lobby's giant bulletin screen informs him of where the meeting was supposed to take place and he heads for the corridor leading to one of the conference rooms.

The room itself looks very stylish and comfortable, but there is an underlying current of tension among the occupants. Plush couches are spread in a circular formation around a wooden podium where a microphone stood at the ready. The temperature is customized, as usual nowadays, to a pleasant warm. A long, buffet table stands on the side, offering a variety of different pastries and drinks from all of the districts.

Smiling slightly at the maid stationed by the double oak doors, he enters the room and takes his seat next to a formally dressed lady in her mid-thirties, who has her blonde hair up in a twisted bun.

Having never been one for dressing up, influenced by the work clothes and school attire that his mother had forced upon him, Peeta felt horribly underdressed among all the classy looking men and women in the conference room. Belatedly, he figures that it might be the reason why the stylists were so intent on making sure that the tributes looked good.

Out of place in his blue, cotton t-shirt and black jeans, he turns to the one thing that always made him (and all the others around him) feel better: pleasant conversation. The lady next to him is looking at him oddly, so he smiles easily at her and reaches out his hand.

"I don't believe we've formally met. I'm Peeta Mellark."

The lady shakes his hand firmly, "No, we haven't. I have heard many good things about you, Mr. Mellark. I'm Rowellai Lestrange."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Lestrange."

"It's Miss. I never married. I'm sure you'd know why."

Peeta reared back as if slapped. Katniss had explained to him once of her fears about marriage and children, and he listened on in silence. He wasn't sure of what their current relationship status then. It seemed silly to call her his girlfriend after all that had happened between them. 'Girlfriend' seemed like too weak of a word. He's thought of their future as a married couple, of course, but he felt like they were just not ready yet. They'd know when the time comes.

He'd never imagined that people from other districts would reach the same conclusions that Katniss did.

"I know well enough," he responds lightly, "So where are you from?"

"District Four. The other mentor, my older brother, visited the washroom for a while- oh there he is."

Rodelai stands up to greet an older man who has just entered the long room. His long, brown hair, contrasting starkly against his sister's blonde, is pulled back in a low ponytail. Unlike his sister, however, he is dressed informally in brown work pants and a white polo shirt, which made Peeta feel ultimately better about his own appearance.

"Rodolphus, this is Twelve's very own Peeta Mellark. Mr. Mellark, my brother, Rodolphus Lestrange."

The blue-eyed mentor shakes the other blue-eyed mentor's hand and Peeta develops an instant dislike for the man. There's something about his presence that made Peeta think he isn't the kind of person Annie would've wanted to mentor the tributes from her district.

"It's an honour to meet you, Mr. Mellark."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Lestrange."

Peeta and Rodolphus sat down on either side of Rodelai. Just as Peeta was about to volunteer himself to get the three of them drinks, a beaming Plutarch Heavensbee emerges from a door off the side of the room that most of them hadn't noticed until now.

"Hello and a good day to you all! I trust that your trips went well?"

Nods of vague agreement ripple across the room. Rodelai leans close and mutters lowly to him, "I wish he'd just get on with it already. He does this every single year, talking as if we don't know what we're supposed to do."

Peeta, once again, rears back. "You're a victor?" he asks, shocked. Rodelai just looks incredulously at him. He could almost read the words "are you kidding me?" in her eyes.

"Of course I am, sweetie. Why else would I be here? I would've escaped the first chance I've got, but Mags and Odair were... gone, and Annie... The poor dear's just not fit to deal with more responsibility. She's getting better, though. Alohn, bless his soul, is really good for her."

He feels himself relax at the mention of his old friend. "So you know Annie?" he asks conversationally.

"Oh, do I?" exclaims Rodelai happily, "Known her since she was a wee lass playing with the fishes in the water!"

Plutarch clears his throat loudly and looks meaningfully in their direction. They quieten down obediently.

"As you all know," Plutarch continues, "this year will be the very last Games that Panem would ever see! As such, it will also be the most extravagant and most memorable of all!"

He smiles widely at all of them and Peeta almost laughs at the less than enthusiastic response that he got.

"Well. Anyway, I just came to remind you about a new set of rules my team deemed necessary for the successful implementation of this year's Games..."

* * *

"Alright, you lot, here's the plan. In a few minutes, you'll meet with your individual stylists and they're gonna dress you up in whatever fashion they want. You'll go on a trip around the city on the horse-driven chariots and try to garner whatever support you can get. Not that it's going to be a lot."

The head stylist gives us all a feral smile at the last sentence before continuing, "The final destination will be back here and you can retire to your respective floors for dinner with your mentors, stylists, and district partners. I suggest that you try to get an early rest for the first day of training starts tomorrow. Do I make myself clear?"

We all nod and I take the time to look for where Harry stands. Servants immediately separated us the moment we stepped inside the room and now, I have no idea where he is.

"Excellent. Along these walls," he gestures to the room in its entirety, "are doors all labelled with your district numbers which will lead you to a boudoir where your prep teams will be waiting. Girls are on the right and boys on the left. Go on then, scatter!"

And scatter we did. I find my door easily at the far end of the room and stand in front of it, not quite ready to go in yet. I see Harry opposite me and he gives me a thumbs-up before being swallowed by a glass door and disappearing from my view.

I enter warily into my own room and gaze at my prep team with narrowed eyes. Three women, all standing near a control panel and a small metal cabinet at the head of a bed stare right back at me.

The woman nearest to me also seems to be the oldest. Her head is tilted to the side, dark eyes sizing me up in a way you'd see a butcher eying a wild boar. A well-manicured finger taps rhythmically against her pale cheek. Curled and frizzy dark hair fell in uneven layers around her angular face. She is dressed in a strange-looking black, long-sleeved gown held in place by several bands of differing shades of silver.

A nearly identical woman sat on a stool a few paces behind the first. Her face is softer somehow, and she seems younger. Her clothes are brighter and more practical than her clone- a simple pastel shirt, khaki pants and black work boots. She smiles when she notices my scrutiny and I sheepishly grin back.

The third woman is distinctly unlike the first two. A certain air of elegance surrounds her and her graceful posture made her flowing, white sundress seem like a gown. Her gleaming blonde hair is pulled back into a fancy twist, leaving a few strands adorning her slender neck. Her dark eyes glow unpleasantly in the dim light of the room.

"We're the Black sisters," the first one explains, taking her time in pronouncing each word, her voice oddly high-pitched, smiling wickedly.

"I am Bellatrix, and these are my sisters, Andromeda and Narcissa. Your stylist is our cousin, Sirius Black. He asked us to strip you down to beauty base zero, and strip you down, we shall."

She comes forward until her nose is a finger's length away from mine and taps a sharp fingernail on each of my cheeks. One nail runs down my cheek and to my chin, going downward before abruptly stopping where the first button of my button-down shirt holds the fabric together.

I subconsciously take a step back. This Bellatrix chick is starting to scare me.

Andromeda chuckles and pulls out a surgery gown from the closet behind her. "Don't be scared, dear. Come on, just put this on and lay down on the bed. It'll be over before you know it."

I take a deep breath, close my eyes and open them again, pasting a bright smile on my face. "Okay, let's do this."

Half an hour later, I'm ready to run away screaming bloody freedom from this hell hole. Every single skin cell I've ever had feels on fire and nakedness and exposure gains a whole new meaning every time Narcissa pulls a patch of hair away from my body. Her complaints and whining about having to "work on the daughter of a Capitolite" does little to help.

Finally, another half-hour later, Andromeda urges me to put my gown (more of a tunic, really) back on and stand in front of them so they can survey their work.

I obediently follow and even hold my arms out mockingly. "Am I a good enough model now?"

Narcissa purses her lips together and clicks her tongue.

"You're wasting such a beautiful body with your attitude, dear," she intones icily, almost spitting out the last word. Clenching my teeth, I bite out in reply, "Don't worry. You won't have to see this body for long."

Andromeda puts a hand on my and Narcissa's shoulders, effectively shutting us up.

"It's important to not forget who we are and what we're here for, despite the circumstances we might find ourselves in," she says sagely, giving her younger sister a sharp look.

A sudden jerk on my hair made me gasp in pain and shock. I turn around to see Bellatrix twirling locks of my hair in between her slender fingers.

"You have such beautiful hair," she whispers softly, staring at her fingers intently, giving a final yank before finally letting it go.

"Red. Not black or blonde or brown."

Andromeda rolls her eyes and sits me down on the stool she had previously occupied, brushing my hair in long, even strokes as she banters with her sisters. The repetitive motion calms me down immediately. I struggle to hide a yawn as I see another man enter the booth.

"Sirius!" Bellatrix shrieks, running over to give the man a huge hug. At the back of my mind, I wonder if she's going to crush him to death.

"Ah yes, my dear Bella," the man they call Sirius chuckles, "as lovely as always."

She finally lets him go and I get my first glimpse of my stylist, Mr. Sirius Black.

He is handsome, I'd give him that. Dark, wavy hair-so alike to Bella's-frame his striking face. Mercurial eyes twinkle with barely concealed affection for his cousins. A sharp, tailored suit swallows his tall frame. The most distinguished feature of his however are the two, long scars mapping his left cheek, overlapping each other to form an x.

"And who is this fine young woman before me?"

"Ginevra Weasley, sir. But you can call me Ginny." I answer, abruptly nervous. This man had obviously fought my people. What would he think of glorifying a daughter of the people who had driven his district into hiding? My eyes flicker unintentionally towards Narcissa's direction.

He smiles indulgently at me, eyes already running objectively over every part of my body. He claps his hands together after a few minutes.

"Right. There's a sitting room behind that door over there. There are some things I have to explain that you might find very interesting."

His emphasis on the word 'very' had Bellatrix chuckling. I nervously enter through the door he pointed to and am pleasantly surprised to find a cosy sitting room. A low coffee table lies on a huge, plush carpet covering most of the floor. Two cream-coloured loveseats are located around it, comfortably sitting four to six persons. Sirius gestures for me to sit on one and I do, wondering what this is about.

"Hi," he says simply, grey eyes still boring into my skin.

I nod stiffly in reply, still not comfortable in this man's presence. Everything seems off somehow, ever since we arrived here. It was stupid really, but I thought that once we came back, I'd feel at home.

Because this place is home! And I feel irritated that it doesn't give off the same comfort and familiarity that it used to. The same comfort and familiarity that I now know stemmed from ignorance and vanity. I feel vain and weak for wishing it, but I still long for the days before the rebellion-days when I still had my family and my pick for dinner were the least of my worries.

Looking at it now, the Capitol feels as foreign as an enemy colony.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the bad ending. The chapter took too long and I just chose to split it so I can upload this one already. I figured this was a good place as any. Reviews make me feel nice and fluffy! I mean, a 5,000-something word chapter definitely deserves it right? :)


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Sorry? Honestly, if you're still reading this, I'd love you forever. I know it's been months since I've updated this fic but I just want to let you all know that I'm not abandoning this story. I might take long breaks in between publishing chapters but I will finish it. (Before I die, hopefully) Anyway, read and review!**

* * *

"Head Gamemaker Heavensbee allowed the stylists to dress the tributes in anything we so choose, as long as we utilized most of the country's natural resources. Everyone had a field day with that one, since he practically gave us every stylist's dream. Imagine taking all the risks you ever wanted to in designing anything you want, have it displayed on national television, and not be critiqued if it doesn't fit! Heaven, I tell you."

Sirius takes a deep breath from his monologue and looks up to finally meet my eyes, "but I want to know what you want."

It takes me a few moments to realize that he's asking me a question, and I was caught off-guard by his piercing gaze.

"I-I don't know," I breathe out uncertainly, "anything that doesn't clash with my hair, really."

I let out a little laugh, "Your cousin was quite taken with it."

He grins, "She was, wasn't she? It's true though, you have beautiful hair. I just might have something to do with that."

His hands reach out a run once through my hair, and I wonder why everyone seems to notice it today. Ron never really liked our hair colour, and Fred and George managed to change it once every few weeks. Mum had hers permanently dyed to a light brown.

"Your eyes are really pretty too. The right shade of brown that's in hot chocolate, but can blend with the trees quite well. We have to bring that out."

I love my eyes. They're my only feature that I'd never change in a hundred years, and Sirius' fetching description of it made me relax a whole lot.

"So what outfit am I exactly looking at here?"

Sirius looked giddy all of a sudden and he stands up, almost bouncing as if he couldn't quite take it being still.

"You, Miss Ginevra Weasley, will be the perfect model for my best work yet. If your personality is as anywhere near as fiery as the glorious mane you call hair, you'd win the favour of everyone in the country!"

He holds out a hand and bows deeply at the waist. I can't help the giggle that escapes my mouth at the ridiculous image he poses, so I just take his hand and stand up graciously from my seat, allowing him to press his lips against the back of my hand.

"What do you know about religion or spirituality, Ginevra?"

I frown thoughtfully at the out-of-context question.

Sirius continues to look at me encouragingly and haltingly, I answer, "It's illegal. Believing in higher powers constitutes betrayal to the President and therefore the country. Punishment ranges from 12-hour isolation to exile."

"Very good. Now, spiritual beings are considered mythical and most of the information gathered about them had been cast aside as unimportant and unnecessary to the continuous development of relevant technology."

"However, that is how the Capitol looks at it. District 13 is a very... practical and resourceful place, Ginevra. I assume you know about the compromise we dealt the ruling city?"

Now quite intrigued and extremely curious, I nod my head, urging him to continue.

"We had people working on past cultures and civilizations, scrapping and putting together what they could find about life before... everything. Right before the Dark Days was a period 13's historians call Rebirth. You have to understand that people were already very desperate at that point as they had next to no hope of preventing the human race from falling into extinction. Refugee camps were hardly conducive places for raising children. And so they held on to anything that they could, which included making up their own religion."

My brows scrunch in confusion. "Making up their own? But how can you believe in something you made up yourself? Wasn't spirituality based on, I dunno, visions and miracles?"

"Yes," Sirius agrees readily, "but most of the people were really desperate by then and some were even reported to have delusions."

"They believed chiefly in reincarnation, the goddess of which is Viterum. She is the only one of their goddesses who was depicted as a human. Traditionally, she is shown to be wearing a white dress covered in thin, black lines and holding melting but eternally burning candles in each finger. Of course, I took some liberties."

Sirius stands up and waves a hand at the wall behind the couch. A white rectangle slowly blooms to life and a faceless model stands in front of us, a hand on her hip and the other arm held out at an angle. Every five seconds she'd turn 45 degrees so we can see the dress she's wearing.

Now, coming from a family of designers, I'm not impressed very easily, but this dress is beyond imagination, beyond comprehension.

A pale white bodice hugs the model's chest, and a thin, barely there black band separates it from the skirt. Sleeves were nonexistent. Red and orange tears of fire drip down from the same band and cascade over the skirt, in the same way muted lava blankets the surface of a volcano. The skirt is folded and stitched in ways that makes it seem like candle wax, melting in a small pool at her feet. From certain angles, I can see her bare feet poking out.

In awe, I stare at the hologram, barely keeping my jaw from dropping down and reaching the floor. A hand boldly reaches for it, as if to touch the material.

Instead, I twist rapidly to face Sirius and grin in anticipated exhilaration.

"Let's see it then."

* * *

Sometime later, Peeta stands with his tributes- all exquisite clothing and shaking hands- ready to send them off to the world.

"You look beautiful, both of you," he remarks softly, looking up at their nervous, smiling faces.

They stammer out thanks and unconsciously hold on to each other's hands.

"What do we do, Peeta? What do you want us to do?"

They glitter in the majestic costumes, heads held high and backs straight, hands linked together as they pose in the chariots. The air around them seems electrified, the image they pose dangerous and beautiful all at once. The pair of them, he muses, is striking when separate, but together they are outstanding, a vision of glory and youth and defiance against the unknown.

_We can defeat anything, we will stand strong, so long as we have each other- so long as we have each other_, the vision croons to him, tickling his ears and touching his heart.

He remembers them suddenly, or what he's come to associate as the Harry Potter and the Ginny Weasley when they're behind closed doors- the little girl sobbing against the man no older than she, and the fierce protectiveness in the way he held her against him. They're so different in the face of adversity, he thinks again as he looks at the girl in the garb of a goddess, and the boy beside him, her protector, suitably dressed as a medieval warrior- defender and worshipper rolled in one; a rebellious Nephilim.

The gates open and he is going to be needed with the other mentors, he channels his inner Haymitch as he smiles up at the boy and the girl who might have been and says, "Make an impression."

Again he wonders, as Delly sits on his other sides and gushes about how perfectly _marvellous_ they look, if in another life, another place, another time, they would've been together, as a couple, and maybe then they wouldn't have to don disguises for a sick game that would only either kill or break them in the end and just be themselves, maybe fall in love and start a family-

And then he stops, because what ifs are dangerous and he knows firsthand how easy it would be for that fine line between fantasy from reality to disappear and he does not want to do that anymore.

He sizes up the competition, judges them with his eyes, zeroing in on arms and posture and harsh glares or soft gazes, and _no, Peeta, you can't afford to feel pity for these children, they're the enemy now_

The District Two tributes are intimidating at first glance. A dark-skinned boy with equally murky hair in smooth, clay armour poses as if he's a statue, gaze directly forward and paying no mind to the slender girl beside him or the crowds applauding him. One hand is clenched to a fist at his side, the other raised up in imagined victory.

He would later know that his name was Blaise Zabini. The girl beside him looks, for lack of a better word, bored.

She is dressed in a monster of a gown, all jagged edges and asymmetrical hemlines, short on one hip but cutting sharply before reaching her right ankle. Her nails are glinting silver, and upon closer inspection, Peeta realizes that someone had put on claws on the delicate flesh, and whenever she waves her hand lazily at the crowd, they would glint dangerously against the quickly darkening sky.

"That one's really impressive," he murmurs quietly to Delly. His friend is quick to agree, pointing out another feature on her costume he has missed.

"Look at her eyes, there's silver paint that kinds of lights up," she says in a hushed voice, as if she's afraid someone might hear, "Effie showed me some a few months ago," she admitted sheepishly.

The commentary and fanfare flows in and out of his ears without leaving their mark, but it's noisy and loud and no encouragement or cheers for the tributes seems to be forthcoming from whoever is up onstage. It's mostly babble about the horses and the stylists' talent and how wonderful it was that District 13 residents finally gets to see the event that shaped their country's history.

The youngest tribute, as far as Peeta can see, is from District 11. His breath catches in his throat as he catches sight of the trembling young boy. His short, cropped hair is decked with a crown of autumn leaves, contrasting beatifically with mousy brown hair and a colourful garment is hanging off his undeveloped shoulders. His stylist didn't even try. His cloudy, brown eyes were bright with unshed tears as he looked wildly around to the crowds and his small hands held fast to the car.

Dennis Creevey would be the first to die in the bloodbath, but no one knows as of yet. Later, much, much later, Peeta would wonder without wanting to if Paylor's government chants justice at every wasted life, at every lost soul that they mercilessly took away in their misguided attempt to quench their thirst for revenge. If this is what would satisfy- if they would realize that every single drop of blood shed in this devil's tournament would be on their hands and be able to live with the knowledge.

And suddenly there they are, a blaze of youth and verve and everything he never was, staring down their spectators with fire in their eyes, daring these people they hardly knew to intimidate them, to scare them, to _try_ and take away what little they had left.

His breath again catches in his throat, because _damn _they're beautiful- flame and soot and chocolate and emeralds- and no matter how scared her knows they might feel, they know how to project.

This wasn't the false bravado of Two, or the quivering helplessness of Eleven, or the indifference of Six, this was real and genuine bravery. It was present in the eyes, in the angle their arms were bent, in the rigidity of their backs. It was the face of one standing strong against what fate had pushed them into, knowing they had both nothing and everything to lose.

It was, he realized, not the sign of rebellion that he and Katniss had posed all those years ago, before Panem fell down and picked itself up again, but strength- plain and simple. They were in control of themselves, and none of their actions was influenced by this thing. They were Harry and Ginny- friends who have stuck together through thick and thin, and will continue to do so until the end.

The fire in Ginny's dress wasn't blazing, wasn't angry, wasn't harsh, barely leaving smoke in its wake. It was simply burning, providing gentle light and illumination and perhaps saying- _hello, I'm here and I continue to exist_. He didn't miss the parallels. Katniss was the Girl on Fire- destructive, severe, ruthless, but ultimately broken and cold.

But Harry and Ginny- they weren't that. They were here simply because they had no choice, and so they created their own. They weren't going to fight, they weren't going to actively seek out competition, they were just going to spend what was left of their life with the other- because of course, they were friends, and that was what friends did, after all.

They refused to be the pieces in this reprise of a game, and Peeta couldn't help but be proud.

* * *

I can't breathe. Our chariot is the last to fly out of the building and riding through it feels like being sucked into another world through an unforgiving tunnel. The only thing keeping me grounded is the steady sound of hooves hitting stone and the lurching floor beneath my feet.

Wind brushes harshly against my bare arms and décolletage, but the inside fabric of my dress provides surprising but welcome warmth. My undivided focus is on the back of the District 11 chariot and I'm not, _I'm not_, enjoying the feel of Harry's fingers tightly woven in mine.

We ride through the city and not even Harry's comforting presence besides me stops the familiar sights from overwhelming me to the point of heaving. The blackened memories and forgotten sensations I've kept tucked away in the darkest corners of my mind comes rushing back with the fiercest alacrity and strongest zeal as my past life forms and revives itself inside my head.

I turn my hazy gaze to the cheering spectators and I see stars, multi-coloured points of light twinkling from a distance. _Sirius is a star_, I think dreamily, _maybe he's somewhere in that mass of human constellations._

"Are you alright?" a voice whispers lowly in my ear. Ah! A human, yes, how perfectly lovely.

I turn to the owner of the voice and it is at that moment that I appreciate just how charming Harry looks.

"I'm just a bit overwhelmed," I answer truthfully, because there's nothing in this world that can convince me to lie to the young man in front of me, "you look wonderful. I don't know if I've told you before now."

His lips bloom into a smile that lights up his pale face and my cheeks grow warm. His right hand, the one that is not locked in mine, comes up as if to touch my face. _Wrong._ As I look into the bright green luminaries that are Harry's eyes, I see all the radiance of the stars and the brightness of the moon, the heat of the fire in my dress and the warmth of chocolate, nights spent in our living room and the soothing spirit of the boy-turned-man who has endured so much but had never changed, never left my side, never ceased to be the brave, self-sacrificing, witty spirit I've always depended on. How can all the stars in the universe ever hope to compare?

"We'll be okay. We always are, you know. And just for the record, I've never seen anyone more gorgeous than you."

Smiling back at him, I press a kiss on the palm hovering by my face, take our clasped hands and raise it up to the cheers of the audience and the explosion of fireworks in my heart. In that moment, with our friendship held up in the air for the world to see and the exultant thrumming in my veins, I swore I could take on anything.


End file.
